Isolated Incidents
by Tom Valor
Summary: Vignettes on the Crimson Twilight series.
1. Duty

**(A/N): Originally, "Shadows of Greater things" was supposed to be the collection of background stories but Lystra's tale has spiraled from a simple story to a complicated plot which requires it to be a fic that stands on its own. Meanwhile, these vignettes have been stacking up without an opportunity to be uploaded, hence, the creation of "Isolated Incidents", which will serve as the actual collection of short background stories for the CT world.**

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**Duty**

"Do you really have to go?"

The tone of her voice told him that she wasn't really asking a question. Even if she was she should already know the answer. It was a yes. He had to go.

"I do."

It was a bland answer. He didn't know what to add to that. He could state so many reasons why he had to go but they would be pointless to her. She didn't need his reasons anyway. What she needed was him. Still, he felt that need to add something to his answer, something that would console her while he was away, even for a short time. Instinctively, he tried to smile. Smiling often lightened the mood. He didn't want it to feel like he was off to die.

"Just two more months of duty, Learia. Two more months and I'll come back. I'll come back and we'll be married."

The mage tried to stifle a sob and failed. Without another word she let him go through the door. It was true anyway. Two more months of duty and he would be allowed to take a year of leave. They would be married then.

"I'll wait for you, Althamas..."

His smile looked almost apologetic but she knew he was not sorry for what he was doing. He was a knight of Prontera and he held on to his duties fiercely. A brief hug, a kiss and he was gone from her home.

To Prontera...


	2. Intimidation

**Intimidation**

"Why should I be afraid of a little girl with a knife?"

The guild leader was drunk. It was obvious from the ugly, red blotch on his cheeks that was supposed to be a flush. He towered over the thief who had just threatened him as if about to strike her with a backhand...

The room was filled with the brief sliding sound of daggers and katars being drawn. The blacksmith was drunk but he wasn't a complete fool. The shadows projected so much killing intent that he fell back to his seat from it. He was in a privare mansion in Morroc, supposedly guarded by thirty of the finest guards that can be hired. Right now, he was in the most secure room of that mansion with a squad of assassins and rogues lurking in the shadows.

"Temper your voice. You speak to Trynis Eviskrae of NightKnife."

A swordsman took his place near the thief. His hand was already on his saber but the ivory-haired thief put a hand over it.

"I'm sure you're in a more reasonable mood now, Mister Talfings. To start things off, I'm well aware that the merchants under you have been making a little...extra profit while trading here in Morroc. Not considering that I might be interested in your operation is just rude and-"

The thief wrinkled her nose and stepped back.

"Is that piss I smell?"

The blacksmith was shaking in his seat. Everyone in the room was quick to take note of the yellowish puddle forming near his feet. The thief stepped back and massaged her temples.

"Mak...that smell is adding to my headache. Tell him what I want..."

The swordsman nodded nodded and walked forward.

"The guild mistress expects a sizeable cut from all your profits from now on. Tomorrow you will be given a schedule as to when to pay the guild your dues and the method of paying them. Fail in delivering on time or delivering properly and you will be made an example of."

The swordsman suddenly drew his saber and struck.

Before Talefings could react, the hilt struck him on the side of the face; knocking him unconscious and face-first in a puddle of his own piss. When morning finds him, he would have to make preparations for serving his new bosses...


	3. You

**You**

"You look a little tired, Mak."

He smiled slightly and gently slipped the brown over-coat off her shoulders. He ran his fingers down the smooth, tan skin of her shoulders. He enjoyed the feeling on his fingertips and that made him smile some more.

"You're the one to say so, mistress. Your shoulders feel quite tense."

Even as he spoke he kneaded her shoulders gently, letting the muscles relax. In response she turned to face him. A smile curved her own lips. The mere sight of it gave him a watery feeling in his knees. He had done this often but that feeling never disappeared. Her hands went to his chest, gently slipping his own coat off. They traced a path down his body and rested on his belt. One hand fell to the hilt of the sword he carried. He noticed the gesture and frowned slightly.

"Security's getting lax. The guard outside didn't even bother relieving me of my sword let alone search me for weapons."

She laughed at that. A gentle, amused laugh that made him feel somewhat sheepish."

"I told them not to bother for you, Mak."

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because it's you, silly."

He let her unbuckle his belt and let it fall to the polished wooden floor.

"What if I wanted you dead?"

For a moment he felt foolish and wanted to take the question back. It might ruin the mood.

"Then I'll die..."

She pulled out her own dagger. The black curved edge gleamed in the candle light. She put it in his hands and closed his fingers over it. Gently, she placed the hand over her throat, with the black edge close to her jugular.

"If you came at me with steel and death, Mak. I'll be killed. That's how I want it to be so they don't need to try and stop you."

He looked at her eyes, to see if she was mocking him. She wasn't. He couldn't tell if there was trust in those pale green eyes of hers. It was something and the look of it made him shiver.

"Why...?"

"Because it's you.


	4. Sunset

**Sunset**

"I knew I'd find you here."

From her view, he almost looked like a vagabond. Sitting on the ledge and staring out at the desert sky was the pleasure of a wanderer not an emperor. Yet, there he was; the mighty Champion Osiris, emperor of Morroc and destroyer of evil, sitting on a ledge and looking at the sunset. There were no imperial guards around. Anything that Osiris couldn't defeat with his fists would easily destroy any squad of guards. Besides, Osiris enjoyed the feeling of peace. He was so aware of his surroundings that even the presence of unwanted guards disturbed him.

"And you know why I'm here."

Isis shrugged her shoulders. Osiris smiled; a genuine smile that few people saw from him, and extended an arm towards her. Smiling back, the high priestess put it around her and sat next to him. The reddish-orange light made her scarlet dress look crimson. She looked questioningly at Osiris.

"The sun rises and sets everyday, Osiris, yet you never let a day pass without watching the sunset."

The champion pulled his wife closer; letting his hand gently caress her dark hair. It was a rare gesture of tenderness from him. Most moroccans would stand in awe as they watched those hardened fists that have crushed the skulls of countless demons move so gently now.

"You answered your question if you were asking one. It's because the sun sets everyday which is why I watch it."

Isis leaned against her husband's shoulder and looked at the fading sunlight. Without guards or subjects around, she could be Osiris' wife without being empress. It was why she loved finding him here.

"Do you feel bothered when I check on you here?"

The champion laughed gently.

"Why should I?"

He cupped her chin gently and stared at her eyes.

"When someone so much more beautiful comes by?"


	5. Joe

**Joe**

"We've got a cute one here this time..."

To her, that voice sounded doubly harsh. Perhaps because the one who spoke had a knife at her throat or, maybe, because they were in an alley in Morroc and that there were three of them. Whatever caused it, Alia trembled at the sound. Moments ago she was walking the streets after a good day of training when a dirty, calloused hand grabbed her by the mouth and dragged her to where she was. The same pair of dirty, calloused hands were accompanied by two more pairs. Each one of them carried knives.

"Aye, Fen, you and your "cute ones". Gut her and take her gear then we can talk all about her later, ok?"

The second voice sounded raspy. Like sand being rubbed over old paper. There was no cruelty in his tone, only a callous disregard for bloodshed. The knife pressed harder against her throat. A drop of something warm and sticky rand down her neck towards her chest.

"Yep, she does look cute. Smart too. I'd bet she's smarter than any of you three!"

Another voice. This time it came from a distance. Whoever this newcomer was, he was not part of the three. That was all they were to Alia. The shadows concealed their faces and parts of their clothing. She could only guess that they were thieves. The newcomer chuckled and she could hear the faint sliding sound of a sword being drawn.

"Kill the bastard, Fen! He's seen us!"

Aila closed her eyes and felt the cold steel leave her throat. There was only darkness around her now. Several gasps broke the silence followed by a horrid, ripping sound and liquid splashing on the ground. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking at the familiar steel of swordsman armor.

"Hullo there, kid! I hope you can tell me that I'm right and that you're smarter than these alley-trash here!"

Alia looked around her. The shadows concealed the bodies but she could see large, crimson blotches on the nearby walls.

"I-I, thank you, I mean-yes..."

The swordsman patted her on the shoulder and helped her walk out of the alley.

"Great! Can you point me to the pyramids? I'm going to be late for a meeting!"

The darkness parted and they rejoined the crowds on the streets. Alia looked at her rescuer curiously. Corn-yellow hair covered his scalp while blue eyes looked at her with a hint of mischief.

"C-Can I ask for your name?"

The swordsman shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure, kid. It's Joe..."

"Joe Buck..."


	6. Punks

**Punks**

"What are doing, Kallifen?"

The assassin smiled and glanced at the novice who was peeking over his shoulder.

"I'm going through my old notes, Makaelthos. It's important to refresh oneself in his studies once in a while."

Kallifen's smile widened when Makaelthos took more interest on the papers on the table. He noticed how the boy's sharp, green eyes narrowed slightly. He was well aware of the boy's inquisitive and analytical nature. Even at his young age, Makaelthos was already trying to make sense of everything he saw and then applying them as he saw fit. The assassin's notes, however, were still a little complex for the eleven-year old novice.

"What are you refreshing yourself for?"

The novice traced a finger over the drawings in Kallifen's notes.

"This is the basic circulatory system of a human being, Makaelthos. I'm refreshing myself on the proper methods on killing efficiently."

The novice's eyes widened in curiosity.

"You actually have to study? I thought assassins just-"

Kallifen shook his head. Makaelthos was smart but he was still young.

"-dress in black and stab people when they aren't looking? I wish it were so easy, Makaelthos but it's not."

Kallifen's face became serious.

"Killing is a profession for us and we're professionals. To make people hire us and pay well we have to deliver properly each time. Killing isn't just slipping a blade between someone's ribs. It's an exacting job that needs plenty of study and practice."

The assassin's eyes went towards the scrap of paper he had taken from a wall outside. An assassin had been caught and executed recently.

"If we lose our touch, we become like this so called "Midnight Wing". It will do you well to be aware of his foolishness, Makaelthos. Look at him. Dressed his fancy black cloaks that are supposed to look like batwings and having all sorts of melodrama in his mission. His target survived his initial assault because he struck the wrong spot at the wrong time. Natrually, he'd make a mistake like that because his target knew he was coming; which isn't too hard to expect since he gives out all these fancy warnings. "

Kallifen shook his head.

"He's a punk and a disgrace to what assassins like me have worked hard for. Past the flashy katars, daggers and cloaks, Makaelthos, is a job to be done. Assassin or whatever, get the task at hand done first and you'll avoid being like him."

Makaelthos nodded gravely when Kallifen patted him on the shoulder. The assassin noticed the novice's eyebrows furrow in deep thought.

"Aren't punks those floating, pieces of dangerous mold that can be found in Clock Tower?"

Kallifen could only laugh at that.

"Mold...yes, he's something like that!"


	7. Creation

**Creation**

While the rain forced many of the soldiers of Glastheim to retreat to their tents for cover, it did little to even slow down Agranias. Large drops of water slid down the black metal of his armor while his boots were spattered with mud. The abysmal knight paid the weather effects no heed. He had just recieved some orders from Grand High Priest Abraxil Sovivor. Besides, he never got sick nor did he mind getting soaked.

_My creation is heading for your camp, Sir Agranias. It is self-aware and intelligent but it still requires guidance. Escort it and inform it of the details of the situation. It will adjust accordingly._

To follow Abraxil's orders, Agranias stood in front of the camp's entrance; letting the rain soak him even more. It was always raining in Payon for the past couple of weeks. He and most of the glastheimian army had been forced to stay here ever since the elves holed themselves up inside their burial caves. The grand high priest had promised an end to the elven resistance and the complete destruction of their race. Right now, it was on its way...

"That must be it..."

Even from a long way off, Agranias easily spotted the approaching figure. Instinctively, his hand went to his dark sword. From a distance, the figure was already exuding the malevolence that came with most of Abraxil's creations. He noticed the long, black hair and the purple dress as the figure came closer.

"A priestess?"

Agranias knew that Abraxil experimented on his own clergy once in a while. It seemed that this priestess was the latest result of one of those. As she walked closer, he noticed the black eyes that reminded him of his own. The priestess was dressed in the tattered garments of her profession. Strange, red markings covered her face, neck and arms.

"This is...the camp of Glastheim's army?"

Now that they were standing next to each other, Agranias suddenly realized something peculiar about the priestess. If not for the dangerous glare in her eyes and the lurid tattoos all over her, this...thing closely resembled High Priestess Isis.

"It is. What are you and what is your business here?"

The priestess looked around, as if assimilating her surroundings.

"I am Sangius Magnus Exorcismus and I am here in accordance to our master's wishes."

Agranias nodded and gestured for the priestess to follow him. Sangius Magnus Exorcismus, "The great exorcism of blood", was a fitting name. Abraxil had sworn to purge Rune-Midgard of all traces of elven blood. It was through this thing that he will accomplish it.

"You are..."

The abysmal knight paused and turned around when the priestess spoke. It seemed to be trying to recognize him.

"You are, Agranias of the abysmal knights..."

Water dripped from the priestess's dark tresses. Its eyes looked so vicious that even though it was asking a simple question, it looked like it was glaring at Agranias. The abysmal knight nodded in response.

"I am."

"You are the creation of Meil'then Sovivor, former grand high priest of Glastheim."

Agranias nodded again.

"You are my predecessor. I will look to you for knowledge of the situation."

For the third time, Agranias nodded his agreement. A strange feeling was coming over him. He was...related to this thing in a way. They were both creations and they were both created for destruction. There was something else, though. There was a strange bond here. He couldn't explain why so he ignored it. The mission had to come first. That was his purpose.


	8. Judgementality

**Judgementality**

Bilthras was a proud man. So much that he even admitted it to himself. Standing alone in the middle of the forests east of Payon, he was wondering if even pride was worth being here. Hunters were known to die in the eastern forests if they weren't careful. That was why the main camp where archers are supposed to go to to take the hunter test was located here. Those who got themselves killed along the way were not worthy of the exacting job that hunters had to perform. Anxiety was the enemy of any archer willing to take the test. It did not help to know that many did die trying to finish.

The cracking noise of a twig snapping nearly made the archer jump. The monsters in the eastern forests were far more dangerous than the other areas around Payon. This part of the forest was under the shadow of the entire mountain where Payon was located. For most of the day it was in the constant shade of the mountain. To adapt, the trees grew taller and formed a canopy that plunged the forest floor into near darkness. The bigfoots, smokies, snakes and elder willows stayed away from this place. Instead it was home to more unnatural and dangerous creatures. A tribe of sohees made their dwelling here. Even though they made a deal with the hunters guild to leave their base alone, anyone caught outside was fair game to the female water demons. Then there were horongs; tiny fire spirits that resembled the flames from a torch. In the shadowy area of the forest floor, a group of horongs could be easily mistaken for a party with torches. It was only until the globes of fire started closing in, enlarging to a blaze to consume a human, would victims realize their mistake.

"I've caught up with you then..."

The archer somewhat relaxed when he heard the voice. At least it was human. A wild sohee spoke in its strange, native tongue. Horongs only crackled like normal fires. This voice had a...reassuring quality to it. Maybe it was because it was soft and gentle in a way. Obviously a feminine voice. He turned around, forcibly plastering a confident smile on his face. It was likely a female archer also out to take the test. He had to look good and confident. That was his image to the entire archer class he was in.

"Oh, you were following? I did notice you earlier but I-!"

Bilthras stopped. He was mistaken about the archer girl part. Standing in front of him was a sohee. Ruby red eyes stared at him with undisguised ferocity. In the shadows of the trees, they almost seemed to glow. Dark hair, as black as ink, spilled from her scalp all the way to her waist, standing out from the near ghostly pale skin and white white dress. Dressed in the traditional attire of a payonese noblewoman, she looked liked a princess from a highly regarded clan. Bilthras knew that it would soon change once she gave her battle cry, however. The high-pitched wail followed by a lunge with a gleaming stilleto was how sohees were said to attack. Bilthras wasn't sure. He was never attacked by one before.

"You're lying. You never saw me following you. You're trying to paint yourself as perceptive but you're not."

Bilthras suddenly squinted. He recognized this sohee from somewhere...somewhere from Payon.

"My name is Khaesilya. We've met before when you ran into my master."

The soft, gentle voice hardened to a near hiss. Bilthras stepped back, trying to find solace on his grip on his composite bow. He remembered now but it didn't make sense. This Khaesilya was just a pet. She shouldn't be able to wander around a forest without her master.

"I'm not a pet. I am a free sohee. A wild sohee to you."

Bilthras took a step back as the sohee moved closer. His legs were shaking now. A fierce expression marred Khaesilya's once-benign face.

"A-a wild sohee? B-but you were with that...that-!"

Khaesilya was almost spitting out her words in a fury.

"You''re wrong on both counts! I am always with him but that does not make me a pet! But you are far more wrong in your presumptions about him!"

Bilthras stepped back again. Suddenly, his foot caught against a gnarled tree root. He fell on his back heavily. At once he heard the sound of his bow breaking in two and the arrows from his quiver spilling to the forest floor.

"Ditch-knight, you called him! Even until now that is what you were about to refer to him as! How dare you? You know nothing of him and you know nothing of me! You will die for those presumptions!"

Panicked, Bilthras tried crawling backward but the sohee easily closed the distance between them. A stiletto gleamed in her right hand; it's blade ready for a killing stab. Bilthras mustered a fake smile in desparation. He knew what upset this sohee enough to want to kill him. He couldn't understand why but he did know. He recalled her outraged expression when he was meeting with her "master". He had called him a ditch-knight, to his face, a name he had heard about from some of the nobles in Prontera. The crusader did not retaliate and continued with his mission. The sohee was not so forgiving.

"T-the servant of a noble crusader wouldn't commit murder would she?"

Khaesilya's frowned deepened.

"Wrong presumption once more. My master is among the noblest and kindest of your kind. He won't kill you for an insult but I am a sohee. A demonic water spirit given corporeal form. I was born with a knife in my hand; a knife for killing humans!"

The fake smile crumbled and Bilthras tried desparately to crawl away.

"T-they'll catch you for this! You'll ruin your master's name! They'll hunt you down and kill you for my murder!"

The sohee grabbed hold of the archer's scarf to hold him in place. He squirmed in her grasp but she was unnaturally strong. Even in his panic, he couldn't find a way to break free.

"That accursed judgementality among your kind...it is so hateful! You judge me and my master so easily and condemn us for flaws you can't even confirm. That mentality will aid me now. Who would suspect me? I'm just a pet. A slave. I can't even walk around without my master! Besides you're in a forest full of my kin. Who would wonder if they found out that one of them stabbed you dead?"

The stiletto's tip pricked the archer's neck, drawing a trickle of blood. The sohees grip tightened, nearly choking the archer in the process. She was right. The mere thought that this sohee was free to kill him with no repercussions caused his insides to squirm about in panic. He was going to die here in this darkened forest.

"And it will be your fault, archer, for judging that my master was undeserving of his crusaderhood when he deserves it more than anyone. Another false presumption must have led you here. You judge yourself worthy of being a hunter when a lone sohee can finish you so easily..."

The stiletto pressed even more against Bilthras's neck, more blood ran down the wound. He was so frightened that he didn't feel the tears trickling down his cheeks. His heart was racing so fast that if felt as if his ribs were going to collapse from the vibration. Suddenly, the knife was gone from his throat. The sohee had stood up and began to walk away. Bilthras was dumbfounded.

"W-what are you doing? Weren't your going to kill me?"

The sohee stopped but didn't turn around. The tone of her voice alone suggested that she was smiling strangely.

"Wrong again. You really don't know anything, Bilthras. Stop deciding for people who they are and what they're going to do. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

"Then I'll tell everyone that you're a dangerous sohee!"

"Who'd believe you? Everyone in Payon has already decided that you always lie about your "excursions". They've already decided that I'm incapable of harming anyone without my master's orders and Master Makaelthos is already on his way to Prontera."

The sohee continued to walk away.

"They've already decided like you, Bilthras. I'm the weak slave and you're the town idiot. What you will say will not make any sense to them..."


	9. Sewing

**Sewing**

"Put the molds out faster, Sei, or you'll burn them up before they've been fully used!"

Seihanine hurried her step; making sure that she didn't trip over the other tools in her brother's shop. She doused the burning molds with water and watched as steam and smoke rose to the nearby chimney.

"Now you can take the arrowheads out of the molds. Here, take this file to put an edge to each one of them. File in a single direction, away from your face and swiftly."

Seihanine did as instructed. Seating herself on a nearby stool, she placed the resulting arrowheads from the molds to the floor in front of her. She took one of the pointed pieces of steel and started filing.

"Remember that you're filing, Sei, not playing a violin. Put some more firmness into it or it will take you days to finish a quiver of arrows."

Seihanine filed harder in response. Her brother walked over and eyed her work critically.

"Don't file too long or you'll make the head brittle. Remember to add the serrations as I taught you."

The huntress wiped the sweat from her brow. It was stiflingly hot in Kreizen's forge. She had often wondered how he could spend hours or even days in this place and now she was experiencing it first hand. The heat from the forge was oppressive. She had only spent a few hours inside so far but she already had enough.

"I suppose I get to fletch these as well?"

Seihanine asked the question off-handedly while working on the next arrowhead. Her brother smiled and sat beside her.

"Of course! Crafting the arrowhead is only the first half of crafting arrows. I'll show you how to fletch them later. I already have a supply of fletching feathers along with the shafts."

Seihanine shrugged her shoulders. It all started when she casually remarked to the blacksmith that she was running low on arrows. At once, Kreizen took it to himself to teach his sister the art of crafting arrows.

"I won't be always available to make them for you, Sei. It's best you know how to make them yourself."

The huntress had decided that the arrowhead making would be the more difficult part. So far, Kreizen had only taught her how to make steel heads. He had shown her how to melt the steel and add different other ores to ensure the proper hardness and to prevent cracking. Other types of arrows meant different "recipes" for the molten metal. Then she had to lug a heavy metal container full of molten steel and fill several wooden molds with the stuff. When the steel cooled, the arrowheads were ready but had to be sharpened.

"That's a large tear, Sei. What happened to it?"

Seihanine looked at where her brother was pointing. Sure enough, there was a large tear on her huntress outfit. The lower portion of her left sleeve was nearly torn in half.

"It must have been from that fight we had with that pack of desert wolves, remember?"

Kreizen nodded in reply.

"That was a day ago. You haven't sewn it yet?"

Seihanine avoided meeting her brother's gaze. This was a bit embarassing.

"I...don't know how to-"

"You don't know how to sew do you? That's what you get for skipping Aunt Erya's tutoring back then."

Seihanine frowned defensively.

"I didn't like the way she taught, Reiz..."

Kreizen shook his head disapprovingly.

"Not enough reason to not learn sewing. It's an important skill for travelers. I'll teach you how later."

Seihanine continued filing. That was more embarassing. Apparently, her brother knew how to sew. Not only that but he was also the better cook and he knew how to craft arrows when she was the one who was using them up.

"In fact, I think you'll be better than me at sewing."

A hint of bitterness crept into Seihanine's voice. It was the reason why she didn't like attending Aunt Erya's tutoring. She was always reminded of the general rule in the clan.

"Why? Because I'm-"

Kreizen did not appear to hear his sister.

"It's these hands of mine. They're too big! I keep pricking myself with the damn needle. I don't think you'll have problems with that, though. You have better vision and your hands are just right!"

A ghost of a smile nearly creased Seihanine's face


	10. Gift

**Gift**

"Thank you once again for your aid, Sir Makaelthos."

The crusader nodded briefly; acknowledging the thanks with a slight smile. His partner was already getting the rest of her men ready to leave the village. After a brief skirmish along the river, he and the members of the first knight division had routed a large party of bandits in this isolated village. All that was left was to make a report and this mission would be complete.

"That's a beautiful shield, Sir Makaelthos!"

Makaelthos turned around to see who had made the comment. At once, one woman clamped her hand over a novice's mouth. The boy broke free, however, and ran over to take a better look at the shield. In response, Makaelthos knelt on one knee to put himself on eye-level with the boy. With a glance, he could tell from the well-toned arms and legs that the novice was training for a physical profession. A swordsman or merchant-to-be perhaps. He ruled out archery as archers seldom took interest in shields.

"It is, isn't it? It has served me well for some time now."

"Yaren!"

That was the woman from before. She looked flustered and obviously embarassed at the way the boy was fussing over a shield. Makaelthos shook his head and smiled at her. The boy spoke again.

"Is it enchanted, sir?"

Makaelthos nodded.

"With thara frog essence."

Taking a bold risk, Yaren ventured to touch the shield. Seeing no hostile reaction from the crusader, he ran his fingers down the engraving of Prontera's symbol; a two headed eagle. As he expected, even over the engraving, his fingers only felt smooth surface.

"The blacksmith who forged this must be incredibly skilled..."

Makaelthos smiled and nodded.

"Yes, he is. He's one of the best and this shield is one of his best."

The boy's eyes practically shone with curiosity.

"Was it made to honor your accomplishments?"

Makaelthos shook his head this time.

"No."

"Oh, I see. It must be to commemorate a glorious battle, right?"

"Not really."

"A treasured family heirloom, then?"

"It was a gift from a friend of mine. He forged it."

Yaren was puzzled over that one.

"Was it for helping him? Did you save his life once?"

Makaelthos shook his head again. From the corner of his eye he noticed Eliarainne signal that they were ready to go.

"No. He simply wanted to give me a gift."

Makaelthos looked fondly at the beautifully tempered and engraved elunium shield. The metal was white elunium, a rarer ore compared to normal elunium. It was harder and it certainly befitted a crusader more but it was also more expensive.

"Think of it as something similar to a good book or a bottle of fine wine, Yaren. There was no battle that called for it nor an occasion that made it fitting reward. Just a friend giving a gift out of friendship. He just happened to be a bit more practical about it as he says."

Patting the boy on the shoulder, Makaelthos got back on his feet. He looked fondly at his shield, especially at the nicks and notches on the surface where it had deflected the blades, clubs, claws and fangs of his foes. Kreizen had given him a shield but the blacksmith had indirectly guarded his life as well.

"You'll soon find out that it's these kinds of gifts that you'll treasure the most, Yaren. Farewell."


	11. Father in law

**Father-in-law**

"Are you still nervous?"

Horus's question nearly made her jump. That, combined with her constant trembling, answered the knight's question.

"Nervous? I'm terrified!"

The knight smiled in gentle amusement as he looked at his fiancee. He had known Kera for a couple of years now. It was a mark of his father's trust that he was allowed to see someone without the emperor looking into things. Three months have passed since he had asked the assassin to marry him and he had decided to repay that trust by voluntarily introducing her to his parents. It almost made him laugh to watch her fidget by straightening her dark, chestnut-brown hair. From the way her dark, almost black, eyes looked about nervously, she almost looked ready to bolt from the castle and forget about the meeting. He looked forward to the time she would realize how silly it was to worry so much.

"Why?"

Kera Rithilfeyn glared at her fiancee. Horus was kind, gentle and strong, a near-perfect knight and prince. He was also...well...charming, as she was forced to admit, and handsome. However, he also had that damnable habit of poking fun at her during awkward times.

"As if you wouldn't know! I'm about to meet the emperor of Morroc himself; Champion Osiris! I'd panic if I was just going to deliver some report about the troop but to meet him as a..."

Horus grasped her hand reassuringly. To others, Kera was always a fierce member of the Imperial Assassins but he knew a different side of her. Beneath the exterior of an efficient assassin was a shy and quiet person. Kera had always been proud of her independence. Even though she barely got by, she was proud of doing so without relying on anyone. Her poverty was something to be proud of to everyone. However, faced with the aspect of meeting the emperor, she was realizing how she was so different from the surroundings he was accustomed to.

"He's a good man. There's no one kinder or nobler than he is. There's no reason to be afraid."

Kera's glare smoothened somewhat. More doubt filled her face.

"He's also the emperor and one who's about to find out that the prince is going to marry an imperial assassin. One of the poorer ones at that. Look at the servants around us, Horus, they're wondering what their prince is doing walking arm in arm with a peasant."

Horus watched the servants following them as they walked nearer towards the audience hall.

"The servants don't know any better, Kera. They'll realize who you are soon enough."

Kera straightened her clothes again, as if all her fidgeting could make them appear less shabbier. She had argued with Horus earlier, about getting something more formal like the court ladies would wear, he had disagreed and urged her to wear something she would wear everyday.

_He hates pretenses. He would rather see you as you really are rather than some picture a set of formal clothes would paint._

The assassin stared at her right hand. She was still trembling and the audience hall was getting closer. Soon, she would be standing in the presence of Morroc's emperor.

"You're thinking what most people getting an audience are thinking, Kera. He's the emperor and the most powerful man in Rune-Midgard right now. He's Champion Osiris, slayer of thousands of elves, slayer of even more demons, the bane of the Dark Lord..."

Suddenly, the knight pulled her closer; whispering gently into her ear.

"But he's also my father and, soon, he'll be yours as well. He'll be happy to meet you just as I've been happy since I met you..."

The doors to the audience hall opened and the two of them stepped forward into the emperor's presence...


	12. Drizzle

**Drizzle**

It was raining in Prontera. Gray clouds had been surrounding the capital for hours, it didn't take a seer to figure out that rain was on the way. The drizzle fell on the rooftops gently, slowly soaking everything in the open. This was no sudden downpour and people took the time to enjoy the feeling of a few drops landing on their faces before heading into their respective houses. By the time the drizzle slightly increased, everyone was inside, enjoying a warm fire with their families. Even the knights stationed by the walls headed for shelter.

Makaelthos Solcry watched all of them head in. It didn't take long until he was the only one standing in the open. Raindrops fell softly on him, soaking his dark brown hair and running down his armor. He looked at the sky; enjoying the feeling of the cool drops running down his face and neck before focusing on his thoughts once again. A rain this gentle reminded him of many things. It reminded him of Morroc, where it would be a blessing whenever it happened. It reminded him of earlier days when he could take so much pleasure over something as simple as this.

It also reminded him of a girl. He could even see her in his mind when this sort of rain fell. Silver hair limp from sweat and water, her tears mingled with the drops of rain that landed on her cheek. She was crying and staring at her home. She had called it so for most of her life. Now, it was a giant gravemarker for her slaughtered kin. He had approached her then, wishing that his mere presence would be of comfort to her. _You still have me_. He had said that in his mind then. _They may be gone but I will always serve by your side. _The rain reminded him of broken promises and the distance between them now. Whenever he stood out in this rain, he always wondered if he could have done better to fulfill his past vow...

·····

"Hey, Khaesilya, where's Makaelthos?"

The sohee bowed respectfully to Eliarainne before answering. She was staring at the distant figure of her master in the comfort of a shelter. The rain was getting stronger. She was worried that he might get sick if he stayed any longer but she knew better than to approach him right now.

"Master Makaelthos is over there, Lady Eliarainne. Please do not disturb him."

"What's he doing standing in the rain? He'll catch a cold!"

Khaesilya stared sadly at the crusader.

"My master tries to rise above his past, Lady Eliarainne, just like the clouds rise above Prontera right now. The rain reminds him that the water eventually falls back to the ground. His mood is dark enough without being disturbed. Please wait until the rain stops..."

Eliarainne nodded in understanding. She still didn't understand some things about her partner and Khaesilya always talked in riddles about his more peculiar habits. Silently, she stood beside the sohee and waited for the rain to grow strong enough to force the crusader to realize that the rain would harm him if he dwelled in it much longer...


	13. Trophies

**Trophies**

"It was a great fight, eh Makaelthos?"

Despite her fatigue, Eliarainne asked the question cheerily. The last mission had been tough but, as she expected, her division performed flawlessly. Her division's powerful charge with her leading it, combined with a well-planned ambush by Makaelthos was too much even for a large band of deserting knights. In fact, their maneuver was so smooth that she didn't even lose a single one of her knights. All twenty-two rogue-knights, however, were killed in the resulting skirmish. Prontera executed deserters in its army so taking prisoners would be unneccesary. Now that they were on the streets of Prontera and heading for the barracks it was time to asses their victory.

"A smoothly executed operation. I'll agree you with this one, Eliarainne. It was a great fight."

The first knight commander smiled as Makaelthos nodded his approval. In truth, she was beaming inside. It was rare that Makaelthos would agree with her on matters of great fights. Even a minor failed maneuver or an unneccesary waste of force was enough for him to fuss over losses. Makaelthos was a perfectionist but it also meant that he did all he could for the success of a mission. Eliarainne thought it was all good if she could fight as hard as she could, snatch victory and ride home with her division.

"I take it that that's Sir Waldern's claymore."

Makaelthos stared at the weapon that his partner was carrying with her other hand. It was a finely-crafted weapon with a bejeweled hilt and scabbard. The blade was polished oridecon and engraved with pictograms of serpents slithering up and down the length of the blade. The weapon had belonged to Sir Waldern Haiff, the leader of the deserting division they executed. Eliarainne had met with the rogue-knight commander in a duel where she emerged a victor.

"It is. This one goes straight to the room."

The division finally reached the barracks. While the knights started talking among themselves of their personal victories in the last battle, Eliarainne went straight to the building's most famous room.

"Another trophy for the division's commander. Half of this room now belongs to you, Eliarainne."

Still beaming, Eliarainne placed the scabbard on one of the many pedestals inside the room. She took the time to survey the room. Makaelthos was right. Almost half of the occupied pedestals in the room held trophies that she had personally earned. They were mostly the weapons of the foes she defeated. Each one of them belonged to a powerful combatant.

"You'd take more than half if you wanted to, Makaelthos."

The crusader shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't the one who really acknowledged his foes by remembering them. A dead enemy merely meant another threat eliminated. The only items he took from the fallen belonged to comrades that he wanted to remember. He looked around to see if he could recognized some of the items.

There were the saw-edged katars that belonged to a nameless assassin who tried to kill Eliarainne during a mission in Morroc. They dueled for a while until Eliarainne's power and reach advantage brought her the victory. The knight had acknowledged the fallen attacker as he was among the few assassins who could match her blow for blow once they had been detected.

There was also the staff that belonged to Marzis Zekien. He was a wizard arsonist who threatened to engulf half of Geffen in an inferno. He had surrounded himself with a large ring of flames and was impossible to close in on until a javelin from Eliarainne found its mark on his chest.

Another weapon didn't have a pedestal. It was too big and heavy to be supported by one. It was a two-handed hammer that belonged to Gorbus the blood-splatter. He was a minorus who was leading a violent raid in Morroc and the battle between him and Eliarainne was drawn out and brutal. Finally, a halberd to the throat brought down the mighty minorus. There was also-

Makaelthos frowned at the next pedestal. The white, stone block had a bone helm and a halberd on it. He recognized them immediately as Eliarainne's due to the special design on the helm that marked her as knight commander. He walked over and inspected the equipment. They were made of wood but the resemblance was accurate.

"Eliarainne...these are yours aren't they?"

The knight finished cleaning the last of the bloodstains from the claymore and looked at what he was holding.

"Which ones? Oh, you mean those replicas. Yes, they're supposed to be my helm and halberd."

Makaelthos stared at the knight curiously.

"What are they for?"

Eliarainne looked wistfully at the replicas when Makaelthos replaced them on their pedestal.

"Just to remind myself while I look across this room. That, even though I fill half of this room with trophies of my battles, there might be a day when my gear will be just another item in someone else's trophy room..."


	14. Revenge

**Revenge**

The house was quiet at last. The only sounds remaining were the soft crackling of dying fires and the night breeze blowing the smoke away. It was over, For Erina Zaisen, everything was over. What she came for here was over. The lives of the scum who took her husband's life was over. Sadly, it also seemed that her life was over as well. The last meteor storm she summoned had literally torn the house apart, smashing some of her foes into boiling puddles of blood while turning the others into blackened ashes. No one survived the onslought. It was important as if anyone had a sliver of life in them to cast one spell, she would be killed.

"This is a pathetic sight..."

Erina winced when she heard the voice. Had she failed? Was there one wizard she didn't kill? Her answer came when she saw the purple cloth of a wizard's robes ahead of her. She tried to look up but the movement caused her own burns to throb painfully. She, instead, glanced at her hands. One hand was a charred stump. She had used it to hold one wizard into a fire pillar. Both her hand and the wizard had been burned into cinders. She was bleeding from cuts to the head and through her nose. Propped up against a low, half-burnt wall; she looked like another corpse in the area of devastation. Her green hair, normally shoulder-length, was partially burnt. It was hardly a loss of appearance considering that a quarter of her face, including her right eye, was scorched. Fortunately, that still left her mouth free for use.

"Not pathetic enough to fail to ki-..."

"I am not one of those who killed your husband, Erina Zaisen."

Erina forced herself to look up this time. Her remaining eye's fuzzy vision caught glimpses of purple from the clothes and white where the hair should be. It was a wizard but his appearance would have still been strange.

"Who...are you?"

"Someone who's partially interested. Well...not in you, actually. There's nothing interesting in a half-burned corpse. The reason why you are does amuse me."

The wizard grasped her by the head and stared at her remaining eye. Even with her blurring vision, Erina saw crimson within the man's eyes.

"Was it worth it, Erina Zaisen? It cost you dearly to get this revenge. Did your investment pay off?"

Erina tried to frown. The muscles around her face ached from the strain. She knew the price this wizard was talking about.

"No...of course it wasn't."

"Then what was it all for?"

"Something that had to be done...that's all..."

"What of your son?"

Despite her wounds, Erina found enough strength to add some menace to her voice.

"Leave my son out of-!"

"This? That's what you did, Erina. You left your son out of everything. Good for you, though. There would have been two half-burnt corpses propped up on that wall but you spared him of the affair. Ended it yourself to leave him free to do what he should. The Source commends that."

Erina's voice softened. The Source...she knew of what this man was talking about. Her reasons did not concern the source of magic.

"He would have grown up...learned about all this and...and tried to take his own revenge...he's too...good for that...I took revenge...f-for both of us..."

Despite the haze of pain, Erina felt the man smile even when blood dribbled from her mouth.

"Sounds like excuses to me, Erina Zaisen. You got what you wanted though. You even wrote a will with instructions not to inform him about all of this. He'll probably never know. You know what he'll think of you, don't you?"

Erina smiled bitterly. She was so tired now. She could even feel her own heartbeat slowing down.

"H-he'll...hate me...h-hate me for not being there...f-for...dying on him. I h-haven't seen him even once...i-in the academy. He'll...t-think that...I...t-think...he's worthless."

The man ran his hand over her eye to close it. She felt his breath on her neck as whispered to her ear.

"True. He'll think you're a witch; rotting away in a marble box just to spite him. He has his own stupidity to deal with. Still, you shouldered the stupidity of revenge for him, Erina Zaisen. That frees him to be useful to the Source. It's pathetic but useful; better than mothering him to grow up into some fool bitter over his father's death then watching him be propped up on that wall. Trust that you did not die in vain. Goodbye, Erina Zaisen."

The green-haired wizard smiled again and sighed. Raven Huer shrugged his shoulders, dusted his robes and walked away. The Juno police would find the ruins soon enough...there was only one body worth burying.


	15. Presence

**Presence**

"I-I need to rest, Sil..."

The acolyte barely heard her partner's request above her panting. The idea was tempting. Both she and her swordswoman partner, Eliarainne, were tired. They had been running for an hour and were likely lost in a forest to the west of Geffen. Silmeia's breathing was ragged and it felt as if the air she inhaled was creating tears in her lungs. Sweat soaked her hair and dripped down the cream-colored robes of her profession. Running around a forest alone was tiring enough but she was also half-carrying and half-dragging Eliarainne. The swordswoman had suffered a deep wound just above the right side of her hip. While Silmeia had closed the wound, Eliarainne had bled heavily and nearly fainted from blood loss. She was in no condition for any heavy exertion for a few days. To their misfortune, that included running for their lives in a forest.

"I think we've lost them, Rainne. Let's rest for a while..."

The acolyte propped her partner up against a tree. The situation seemed to get worse every minute. The sky was darkening even while they were still panting. Who knows where their pursuers were.

"Thanks...just need...to...catch my breath..."

Silmeia glanced at her partner worriedly while she searched the surrounding area for signs of their pursuers. Eliarainne was terribly pale from blood loss. Catching her breath would not give her enough strength to start running again should their pursuers find her. Fighting was out of the question too. Cafilex's rival had sent four hunters and a rogue to make sure that their swordswoman target would be caught. Silmeia had forced them to make a change of plan by finding out who their employee was. That only meant that they were to be killed instead of kidnapped.

"A bad time to lose my blue gems...how are you feeling, Rainne?"

When her partner didn't answer, Silmeia hurried to the swordswoman's side. Eliarainne had fainted from exertion. The acolyte sighed and huddled beside her partner.

'God, help us...'

······

Silmeia continued to stare at the woods and shivered. It was probably the middle of the night now. A full moon had risen above the threes, providing them with some illumination. Although only a few hours had likely passed, the acolyte felt like she had been sitting in the dark and watching for their pursuers for an eternity. She yawned again and shook her head in a futile attempt to clear it of sleep. It was hopeless, she was slowly drifting off despite her fear...

A scream that was immediately cut off by the sound of metal clashing jerked Silmeia wide awake. She looked about in a panic; fearing that they had been caught. There was no one around but she heard the sounds of struggle nearby. Shaking, she stumbled forward, aware that Eliarainne was still asleep. Despite the moonlight, it was still too dark to see what was going on. There was another scream. From the volume, she guessed that she was drawing closer. She heard the horrid, ripping sound of a sword being pulled from someones' guts followed by a body falling. There was a "twang" from a bowstring being released and a clink from an arrow bouncing off armor. There was no scream that followed this time, only a brief singing sound of metal slashing neatly through flesh. A light thud on the ground followed by a louder one meant that a body part, likely the head, had been severed from someone. Silmeia stepped back. Her teeth were chattering from fear. The sounds of struggle had ceased...

"H-hello?"

It was only a split second after the word had left her mouth that Silmeia realized how stupid it was to reveal her presence. Someone was walking towards her. Heavy metal boots snapped twigs as they moved towards her direction. She stumbled back to where Eliarainne was. A fallen branch suddenly caught her ankle, causing her to fall her back. Panicked, she forced her clammy hands to make the proper gesture and stuttered a prayer for light. The spell worked and a globe of blue light came into existence. She gasped at the sight...

"G-God save us...it's-!"

The pale blue light illuminated the armor of a knight. Blood dripped from dark gray steel; glistening unforgivingly black in the moon's silver rays and the ruwach's blue glow. Massive spikes jutted from the shoulder plates of the figure. It was carrying a monstrously large shield that was designed to look like a face with its teeth bared. Where the eyes should be, there were two bloody spikes. The figure held a massive, black-bladed sword in its right hand. A gaping skull adorned the hilt and from its eye sockets glowed two points of red light. The most terrifying feature was the figure's helm. It was designed to look like a grinning demon. Lurid, red flames lit its eyes and large, goat-like horns curved downward from its brows to form a chin guard. Silmeia recognized the horribly awesome sight.

"B-blood knight..."

The acolyte felt all hope slip away at the sight of the monster. She was going to be killed and Eliarainne was going to follow after. The blood knight didn't even need to swing its sword. All it had to do was step on her and crush her neck. She tried to move her fingers and failed. She was so scared that she couldn't move. The blood knight suddenly walked past her and straight towards her partner's sleeping form. Silmeia grit her teeth and willed her body to move. Frightened as she was, she couldn't just let the blood knight kill Eliarainne so easily. She stood up and raised a palm for a holy light spell. Her attack would do little to even faze the blood knight but she might be able to lure it away if she ran afterwards. Halfway through her prayer, however, she stopped in amazement. The blood knight was not attacking. Instead, it kneeled in front of her partner's sleeping form and watched the swordswoman quietly.

"What's going on...?"

The armored monster suddenly stood again and faced Silmeia. It stood in front of the frightened acolyte, blotting the view of the moon from her sight. Silmeia felt her heart race. This was the end...

"Keep heading east from where you are and you will see Geffen. Take your friend and go home..."

Silmeia stared dumbly at the armored figure. At the back of her mind was a nagging realization that the monster shouldn't be talking. The blood knight began to walk away. Its cape swirled behind it as it made for the darkness in swift, long strides. Then it paused and stared at Eliarainne again. Its words were addressed to Silmeia, however.

"You saw nothing, acolyte. You don't know why those men are dead. Swear it!"

The blood knight pointed its sword at Silmeia. The acolyte swallowed hard and nodded her agreement. After one last glance at Eliarainne, the blood knight was gone...

······

Eliarainne's eyes widened in shock as she saw the clearing. Four bodies were scattered across the grass. It was the bodies of their pursuers. Two of them were cleaved in two from the waist. The other two had been decapitated. Arms and legs had been severed from some of them and were likely rotting somewhere in the bushes. Flies were already swarming over the garishly red pieces of flesh and guts that had spilled all over the place. Eliarainne covered her nose to avoid smelling the rot.

"What happened here? Who or what could have killed them?"

Silmeia was silent and shook her head. Once they were walking away from the grisly scene, she spoke.

"Perhaps a wandering monster...we are getting close to Glastheim. Perhaps they had a falling out."

Eliarainne nodded and walked beside her partner.

"Then we're damn lucky to avoid that monster. Strangely enough, I slept well last night. I even had this strange dream..."

Silmeia shook her head to clear her mind of last night's memories.

"Really? What dream?"

"I was lying on the ground in the dark...I was sure I was alone but I felt this wierd presence beside me. Like someone watching me protectively. It did feel relaxing. Even though I was frightened at first...I suddenly felt safe...as if I knew that someone who was watching me."

Silmeia was silent again while Eliarainne closed her eyes momentarily to remember the feeling...

(A/N): Note that I don't really "work" on Isolated Incidents. These are the results of boring lectures where I scribble random scenes to the back of my notebook.


	16. Innocent

**Innocent**

"Tell me again why we're doing this, Makaelthos."

Trenzein Zaisen stared at the water before plunging his face into it; allowing his hair to get soaked. His tousled, green hair dripped water down his chest and clung to his face and neck. Despite the muggy atmosphere of the jungle around them, the water was surprisingly cold.

"It's part of umbalan beliefs that we must undergo a "cleansing bath" before we approach their sacred tree, Trenzein. To accomplish the mission, we have to do this."

Makaelthos leaned against the rocky edges of the pool and looked around him. Despite the relaxing atmosphere, he couldn't bring himself to let his guard down. Being unarmored and unarmed in an unfamiliar place already grated on his sense of caution.

"Besides, you were starting to stink after falling into that pool of mud, Zein! A bath would be a good idea. You should probably scrub too. That looks like moss clinging to your cheek."

Kreizen entered the pool last. With one swift motion, he dipped his head into the pool to soak his hair. Then he shook it, sending droplets of water spraying in all directions. Trenzein backed off from the blacksmith. The wizard rubbed his cheek to see what the blacksmith was talking about.

"It's my beard not moss! I haven't shaved in a while. As for bathing, I'd prefer not doing it with the two of you around!"

The blacksmith guffawed and stretched his arms before fixing his gaze on Trenzein. Bright blue eyes dancing with mischief, he grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm sorry, Zein! I know you're thinking that you're bathing with the wrong Xalascent!"

The blacksmith laughed harder when the wizard's face colored. Even Makaelthos smiled at his reaction.

"Knock it off, Reiz! Besides, I can't believe you'd talk about your sister that way."

The blacksmith snorted in response and rested his arms on the ledge surrounding the pool.

"Don't be a child, I've seen Sei naked plenty of times."

Makaelthos's smile widened at Trenzein's continued reaction.

"Don't tease the man so much, Kreizen, if he blushed anymore he'd bleed out of his ears. I'd understand why you have such reservations though, Trenzein. Relax, it's no fault of yours."

The blacksmith burst into laughter at Makaelthos's remark while Trenzein glared at him.

"Very funny, Makaelthos, and what do you mean you'd understand?"

The crusader looked somberly at the wizard.

"I've looked into your profile a bit, Trenzein. You graduated at the top of your class in the Geffen Magic Academy. Being immersed in your studies leaves little room for frivolous things."

Trenzein stared back defensively at Makaelthos. He knew that they were both twenty-three years old but there was always something in the way Makaelthos spoke that made the crusader seem older than he was.

"And what does that tell you, Makaelthos?"

Kreizen caught his breath and grinned.

"It tells him that you're about as innocent as a newly inducted acolyte, Trenzein. I hear geffenese women are as bold as they can get but it looks like you scared them off with your genius."

Trenzein's eyebrow twitched at the acolyte remark. It sounded detrimental but what was worse was that it was true. His colleagues were always fooling around with their female classmates. He was too obsessed with finding the next higher step to a spell.

"And I suppose you're an expert on the matter, Reiz? Sei doesn't count for you, you know."

The blacksmith's grin did not lessen.

"You can't imagine what some female customers would do rather than actually pay for a premium piece of merchandise, Zein."

Trenzein shook his head and looked to Makaelthos. The crusader had risen from the bath and was already putting his clothes back on.

"And you, Makaelthos?"

The crusader was quiet for a while and then he smiled.

"It's not something to be so proud of, Trenzein. I'd trade places with you if I could. You'll get your chance. Coming, Kreizen?"

The blacksmith rose from the water and nudged Trenzein conspiratorily.

"Yes, I'm coming. Best of luck to you, Zein!"

The two left; leaving Trenzein to finish his bath alone.


	17. Threats

**Threats**

"So how come you're the first here, Sei? You're brother's not coming?"

Baelthran offered the huntress her customary glass of water. He didn't expect an answer to his question so he took no offense when the huntress remained quiet. For the past two years, the barkeep had learned that the only thing he should expect from Seihanine Xalascent was the payment for the food she ate. A few words, let alone a conversation, was a rare blessing. Still, it was rare instance in itself that Seihanine was the first to arrive at Baelthran's. She usually arrived last with her brother as she waited for him to close up shop.

"Kreizen's in the middle of closing a deal with one of his clients. He'll be later than usual so he asked me to go ahead..."

Baelthran hid a smile. It seemed that it was a night for rare instances. He rubbed his hands as a pair of blacksmiths entered his bar. Leaving the huntress to her meal, he immediately took their orders before going back to the kitchen.

"God-cursed bastard Xalascent...I can't believe even Sir Waelgad is commisioning him for a set of armor...with those ridiculous prices of his!"

Seihanine swallowed the last spoonful of her rice and chicken. Without so much as looking at the pair of blacksmiths, she waited patiently for the barkeep so she could pay for her meal.

"The rotten bastard son of a hode thinks he can make the guildsmen look like fools and get away with it! He must think he's immune to regulations!"

"Bah! You know how these payonese pigs are! He's a clan leader so he thinks everyone has to work around what he wants!"

"Aye, their women must be air-headed sows to let them strut about for so long..."

Baelthran returned from the kitchen just in time to see the huntress rise from her seat. He blinked once and, in that instant, Seihanine was already holding her gakkung. An oridecon-tipped arrow was already nocked and pointed at one of the blacksmiths.

"Leave..."

The huntress's voice was a simple whisper. It sounded so menacing that it was more like hiss than anything.

"What in the-? You think that arrow scares me, girl?"

The huntress kept the bowstring taut and her eyes expressionless. The bar's lanterns revealed the wiry strength in her arms.

"I'm sure it doesn't. It will kill you, though."

The two blacksmiths stood up. The few customers in the bar watched carefully. No one made a move to dash towards the exits. One of the blacksmiths, a bald, aging man with a graying, rust-red moustache underneath his large, bulbous nose, snarled and called the threat. He had to, the arrow was pointing at his skull and he had to agree with the huntress that, frightening or not, the arrow was lethal.

"Go ahead! Even if you shoot, my buddy here will hack you apart!"

"Maybe. But you won't be able to help him with your brains splattered all over that wall behind you."

The cocky grin on the blacksmith's face disappeared.

"You wouldn't dare! They'll try you for murder!"

The huntress did not relax her aim. Her lips were set in a grim line while she glanced at the exit.

"Perhaps. I'm sure the prosecution will gain the upperhand when they present your body as evidence."

The blacksmith swallowed hard. His companion, a much smaller, weaselly-looking blacksmith with a pot belly, tried to edge towards the exit but a glance from the huntress's steely eyes rooted him to the spot. He tried again; a hint of nervousness tinging his voice.

"They'll execute you publicly for this!"

"Again, maybe. I'm sure you won't be attending my execution. You'd be rotting in the ground by then."

"What if I live? You'll only get one shot!"

Seihanine lowered her bow and the blacksmith's grin returned. With one swift motion, she took another arrow from her quiver and pointed both shafts at the blacksmith.

"I'd better double my chances then..."

The blacksmith paled and backed away. The next moment, he was running out of the door so fast that his companion stumbled trying to catch up. Seihanine watched them run and sat back down. Baelthran approached her carefully.

"They must have really upset you if you had to threaten them like that."

Seihanine sipped her water quietly. The expression on her face, before and after her threats, had not changed.

"Upset? Hardly...I was doing them a favor. They were going to get themselves killed..."

Baelthran raised an eyebrow.

"That was a favor? How in the world were they going to get themselves-?"

The free-swinging doors to the inn suddely opened.

"Ho, Baelthran! I'll have some Payon spirits for tonight! I just landed myself the biggest payoff of the year and I'm celebrating!"


	18. Blind

**Blind**

"Why are you doing this, Silsendra?"

Cafilex slammed both his hands on the table. He may as well have had them tied to his back. He had never felt more helpess than this very moment. He knew that this would be his last chance. Once Silsendra left the Sialsanderin dining room, she would return to her station in Geffen where she would risk the wrath of the entire Church. The dining room never felt so large as it did this morning. The space that separated him and his older sister seemed to wide or perhaps she was simply too distant. She didn't even seem to hear him when he shouted.

"Do you have any inkling of what might happen to you? If you defend the blood knight, they will strip you of your rank and have you arrested as a common criminal! Everything you've achieved as a crusader will crumble!"

Silsendra Sialsanderin, the eldest and only daughter of her clan and one of the highest-ranking crusaders in the Church, continued her meal. She made no attempt to reply to her younger brother's raving. Cafilex wouldn't understand. He was too fulfilled by profit and luxury. The situation she had to face would be the last thing he'd ever want to do.

"This is the last breakfast of my visit to our manor, little brother. Can't you let me finish it in peace?"

Cafilex ignored the question. It was too flippant to even consider coming out of his older sister. She had always been the serious one. Rising through the ranks of the Church, destroying her foes with the light coming from Brionac, upholding the Sialsanderin traditions...she was the man of the house despite her gender. Cafilex never doubted for a moment that the prestige of their family, despite what's left of its members, rested on her shoulders. For the past ten years of her crusaderhood, Silsendra had done a good job of doing just that. She would have been the pride of their parents; relentless, over-achieving and focused...until that damned blood knight appeared...

"I can't because it may well be your last breakfast, Silsendra! What's happened to you? Throwing your life away for some man? You would have laughed at the idea before!"

And Silsendra did laugh.

Cafilex didn't know if he should be livid or utterly surprised. They were still children when he last saw Silsendra laugh. The sound was so foreign...almost like a tinkling sound of mirth. Even the crusader's laughter was tempered, marked by the fact that it was over quickly. The crusader rose from her seat.

"You're right, Cafilex, I would have laughed as it would have seemed utterly foolish to me. Life is a matter of priority. Above everything else should be the greater good and one's duty to it. Love and other personal feelings fall a notch below that. Even below personal honor and integrity. Dying out of a love that is likely more of an infatuation is an expression of stupidity rather than passion. That's the Silsendra you're appealing to, right?"

Cafilex raised an eyebrow and nodded while his older sister approached him.

"Of course! A Silsendra with a sense of responsibility. One who sees the bigger picture all the time! Mature, stern, honorable! Not like this!"

The crusader laughed again and placed her armored hands on her brother's shoulders. She stared at him directly and grinned.

"I'm in love, Cafilex, and I've completely lost sight of everything else! I can't see the bigger picture and dying for Salendriel's sake just sounds so noble to me. Your mighty, honorable sister has degenerated to this stupid, love-sick little girl!"

She was grinning like an idiot. There was a gleam in her eyes that Cafilex couldn't recognize. It looked like madness. It had to be madness!

"You've gone mad, Silsendra!"

The crusader let her brother go and began to walk towards the stables. Once she collected her grand peco, she was heading for Geffen.

"Much worse than that, dear brother. Goodbye."

She walked away. Brionac gleaming from its position on her back...


	19. Timing

**Timing**

"Um...Makaelthos..."

Silmeia approached the crusader as carefully as one would walk about in the ruins of Glastheim itself. A few moments ago, Makaelthos had a heated argument with his partner, Eliarainne. Well, it was heated on the knight's part. The crusader had kept his voice level and spoke as little as possible, making his point and backing it up without minding the occasional stinging remark. It ended with a vicious snap of an agreement on Eliarainne's part with a remark that made even Silmeia gasp. The priestess had noticed the crusader raise an eyebrow. A minor gesture in itself but even that was a rare instance. Makaelthos had killed taunting foes without raising an eyebrow in indignation.

"Yes, Silmeia?"

His voice was still even. Silmeia didn't know if that was enough to let her breathe easier. Still, she wanted to do this while Eliarainne took the time to get her sore pride out of the way and make amends.

"It's about Eliarainne. She didn't really mean what she said earlier it's just that...well, actually it's because..."

The priestess knew that it wasn't like her to be at a loss for words but she knew why her friend was especially...belligerent this day. She just couldn't find the words to express it.

"That time of the month is it?"

Makaelthos's remark brought Silmeia up short. Leave it to Makaelthos to be able to deduce anything from the most obvious things to the strangest of reasons.

"W-why, yes..."

The crusader didn't seem bothered. He was arranging some papers on his desk. No doubt, a report he had to give to the Grand Knight Commander regarding the last mission. He tapped the edges of the small pile against the desk to align them before rising.

"Yes, I understand. I didn't want to bring the matter up knowing that it was this week but it was pressing business..."

Silmeia breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's right. I'm sure she'll come around to...How'd you know?"

Silmeia's eyes widened. Makaelthos knew a lot of things he considered necessary but this...The crusader allowed himself a smile at the priestess's sudden realization.

"I've noted it down already so I know when it is just to make sure business runs smoothly. I was surprised today though...it seems worse than usual."

Silmeia struggled to keep her jaw from dropping.

"You've...noted it down?"

The crusader didn't seem to have any problem with the matter. Silmeia tried to keep her surprise from showing too much when he continued to calmly go on about "noting it down".

"Yes... well, I know it's strange. A force of habit, I guess."

Silmeia could only continue asking questions at this point. The whole apologizing for Eliarainne seemed to take a backseat in her mind.

"A force of habit? You've been doing this in your old guild?"

"Yes, most of the members did it as a matter of course. No one admitted it in public though. That would just be suicide."

Makaelthos smiled again as he exited his own office.

"Silmeia...in my old guild, knowing if it's that time of the month is a matter of life and death..."


	20. Dark

**Dark**

The common sleeping room was quiet as soon as the candles were blown out. Silmeia was glad for it as well. Today's training was exceptionally taxing and she was looking for a good night's sleep. The sky was moonless tonight; providing them with a thicker blanket of comforting darkness. Stretching out her legs, Silmeia closed her eyes and started to drift off...

"So what do you think is under that eye patch?"

Silmeia opened her eyes. She couldn't see her classmates and in the dark but she recognized the high-pitched, almost squeak-like voice as Velta's. The question was hushed; quivering with a mixture of nervousness and excitment. The girl who asked it kept under the cover of her blanket but poked her head out; fearing discovery yet curious for the answer. The other novice girls looked about nervously but decided to risk it by answering. One of them giggled but quickly supressed it by muffling it with a pillow.

"You mean Priestess Kerari's eyepatch?"

"Of course I mean Priestess Kerari's eyepatch! Do you know anyone else in the Church with an eyepatch?"

More muffled giggles. Silmeia frowned and kept silent. She knew that her classmates hated Priestess Kerari. They hated her for her harsh training methods and the seeming joy she took in sending another novice girl packing for home. Out of the thirty novices under Priestess Kerari, Silmeia was part of a class of only eighteen. Still, that was no reason to make fun of the priestess's physical appearance.

"Maybe she used to be a pirate! She certainly acts like one! Harrrrr!"

The giggles increased in volume and then simultaneously died down for for fear of bringing down the attention of the priestess. Once more, Velta rekindled the conversation.

"And what's with that scar? She could have healed it and kept the skin unblemished! Why would anyone want to keep such an ugly thing on her face? As if an eyepatch wasn't bad enough..."

An old topic. The class had been discussing the vertical scar on Priestess Kerari's face since they were first introduced to her. Silmeia couldn't just pretend to be asleep and listen to it anymore. Velta had no reason to start a harangue on Priestess Kerari over something as trifling as a scar. She pulled over the blanket and opened her mouth to say something...

"Aye, Velta. It be an ugly thing on this old seadog's face. It be an old battlescar from a sailor's cutlass harrrr, made him walk the plank, I did. Sent him to the bottom of Izlude harbor where he be food for the fishes!"

Someone did speak and everyone nearly let out a shriek out of surprise. Priestess Kerari Phanaea's voice was mocking and coldly amused. She was standing by the middle of the room from the direction of the sound. Silmeia wondered how long the priestess was standing there. Perhaps she sneaked back in the room as soon as she left just to check on them.

"It seems I be mistaken for sending ye all to bed when ye still have plenty of breath for this little discussion. I'll be fixin that soon enough, harrr..."

The mocking pirate imitation disappeared; replaced by Kerari's usual harsh orders.

"Four laps around the church grounds. Move it! Anyone who collapses gets no breakfast by morning! Many a warrior has died because some priestess was too tired or too slow to run up and heal him. That "some priestess" won't be from my class!"

Groans and shuffling filled the darkened room as the class moved out. There was no disobeying Priestess Kerari's orders. Any form of doing so resulted in an instant expulsion. Silmeia moved out as well. Her legs were still heavy from the last run but she had no choice.

"You're curious as well, aren't you?"

Silmeia paused when her teacher addressed her. She was the last to move out, leaving her alone in the darkened room with the priestess.

"I...well...yes."

The novice girl felt a hand on her shoulder. It was hard and and cold; the priestess's gloved hand...

"You were going to say something. Call it a feeling if you want, I can just tell when you've gathered the courage to speak out. And it wasn't going to be pirate talk either..."

Silmeia nodded and then quickly realized how ridiculous the motion would have been. Who would see a nod in this darkened room? She made amends by speaking out...

"Yes. I-"

"I felt the nod, Silmeia. No need to back it up."

The hand on the novice girl's shoulder felt cold and its grip; as gentle as she felt Kerari tried to make it, felt bruisingly hard.

"I'm used to finding things out about what priests, acolytes or anyone else for that matter, do in the dark. Now, go run with your classmates. The exercise will do you good."


	21. Protection

**Protection**

"You're crazy, you know that?"

Kensav frowned as he watched his guildmate pack her bags. Folding his arms in front of him, he leaned against a wall in frustration. He could never understand, no matter how much he thought about it. He even went as far as asking his other guildmates about their thoughts on the matter. No one cared, although Kensav believed they didn't care because they were too embarassed to admit that they didn't know. Too afraid to look ignorant, no one bothered making the mental venture of trying to understand the psychology behind Maiha Xalascent's reasons.

The Al de baran-based thieves' guild known simply as "Time" was sparingly populated. Its guild leader, an alchemist called Nykeia Seryth, had once declared that it was intentional that she wanted as few members as possible. Where she lacked in number of members, Nykeia made up for with quality. Time was among the most succesful thieves' guilds in Al de baran. It owed its success to the skills of its members and its guild mistress's ability to utilize them. That most the guild members were also a little eccentric in their own way was just an unfortunate side effect.

At least, Kensav thought it was, Nykeia thought it was perfectly fine and the guildmistress's opinion certainly mattered more than a recent recruit's. Kensav had ignored the quirks of his other guildmates except his fellow new recruit, Maiha. He had thought that he had at last found someone to relate to after a month of trying to figure out why assassins held on to their chins a lot or what the real reason was behind placing the temple of assassination in the middle of a desert. Maiha did seem pretty normal. She was quick on her feet, with her hands and her thinking. All assets for a good thief. She didn't suddenly babble on mindlessly when things were quiet or feel like slicing someone apart because they buttoned their vest on incorrectly like some of the guild members. Everything was normal until Kensav discovered her "quirk" as he put it...

"Oh come on, Kensav. That was a good deal I got for this tunic! Eight thousand zenny for a tunic as cute as this well worth it as it is and the look on little Sei's face will double it!"

Maiha was grinning when she talked about the tunic she just bought. She held up the piece of clothing and admired the patterns on it. Kensav shook his head. Maiha wasn't an idiot. She knew what he was talking about but, as usual, she was breezing past it by playing the idiot. He pressed the matter this time.

"Once every few months you go back to Payon to see your half-siblings. After you come back you look worse than before. Your relatives hate you, Maiha. You'd be Il-Xalascent in a flash if your half-brother didn't protect you. Why do you have to keep going back there to remind them just how much they hate you?"

In response, Maiha kept her grin up, slanted dark brown eyes betraying nothing of what she felt. She folded the tunic carefully and placed it in her bag.

"You know, Kensav, you're looking at things the wrong way. I go there to remind myself how much I love my half siblings. The truth is, my elders would be dead if my half brother didn't protect them."

She left him silent there as she took the road to Payon. The cold, biting wind ruffled her dark blue hair just as it brought a shiver to Kensav's skin. Maiha had spoken of her elders being dead without as much as a change of tone in her voice. Kensav wondered about her half-brother whom she seemed so fond of. Who was he really protecting from whom?


	22. Service

Service

The house was quiet now. From his perch atop a nearby building, Kallifen waited patiently for the men inside the house he was casing to leave. He had been watching for a long time already. Dark brown eyes glittering in the pale moonlight and his braided black hair hanging limp behind him. He had watched them earlier as they stormed the small, block-shaped dwelling like a pack of ravening beasts. The attack seemed overdramatic, especially since they weren't even attacking a well-defended building. Their target was nothing more but a potter's home in the poorer section of the city of Morroc. There was hardly anything to distinguish this home from the other block-shaped homes beside it. It was constructed of the same adobe bricks, built with only function in mind and nothing more. A lone assassin kicking in the rickety front door was already too much. Five assassins, their katars gleaming wickedly in the moonlight was like needing a sledgehammer to crack an egg open. Kallifen had frowned with disgust as he watched their assault. Their style was a disgrace to the dark purple cloaks that signified their membership to the assassins' guild. He thought of this from a veteran's point of view. He was also in the assassin's profession for seventeen of the thirty five years of his life and the lines around his face told of an experience that these whelps would never match. They had burst in from the front door with their weapons swinging. Screams and curses mixed with the steel clashing and the dull thuds of bodies falling. Then there was silence. It took little deduction to guess that the house's occupants were dead. Several more minutes and the assassins stepped out of the house. Their leader, Kallifen assumed that he was the leader because of the fancier black cloak he wore, didn't look pleased with the assault. Kallifen wasn't surprised; no assassin worth his salt would be pleased with such a sloppy assault. It was also because of the five that had rushed in, only four stepped out. The surviving members also sported minor injuries. The house's occupants had accounted for themselves. Kallifen gave a brief nod towards the house as a fleeting sign of respect.

"I've seen enough. Silksilence and Needledeath wouldn't waste their times with such fools…"

Kallifen raised a hand, a gesture that went unnoticed except by those who were expecting it and knew where to look. The fleeting signal was enough for the rest of his group to open fire on the assassins who were spread out below them. There were only the twangs of bowstrings releasing and the brief whistling sounds of arrows leaving their bows from the shadowy rooftops nearby to mark the attack of Kallifen's squad. The leader of the assassins gave a brief cry of surprise before the poisoned shafts hit. In the space of a heart beat, there were only dead bodies lining the street. The remainder of the town remained asleep and the town watch was too busy rolling their dice and drinking their pensions away to notice anything. The rest of the shadows surrounding the isolated morrocan home came alive after another signal from Kallifen. The threat had been neutralized and there was only the clean up left to do. A trio of men, rogues from Kallifen's guild as marked by the black and silver armbands wrapped on the sleeves of their red leather coats, emerged from their hiding places. Noiselessly, they started dragging the bodies away to search them before disposal. Once they were done, they disappeared into the night wordlessly; they would meet by their hideout later once Kallifen was done.

'Perhaps I should have struck before they accomplished their deed.'

The assassin stroked his goatee while he thought this. He knew that wasn't possible though. Through hindsight, it might have but, during that time, he had no way of knowing what these fools were planning for the house. He was sent to observe these assassins by his employer and friend, Lord Nasq Eviskrae, the leader of OnyxArc. He was here to investigate the appearance of five assassins who were freelancing on guild territory; the surest way to attract the wrath of OnyxArc. He was to tail them to see if they were working for anyone and then kill them. Kallifen should have known that these people were nothing more but thugs simply out to take vengeance on a man who had sent one of their friends to the gallows. When they stormed the house, Kallifen deemed the mission was over but it was too late to stop the assault. His few minutes of retrospection over, the assassin prepared to depart. He had to make his report after this.

A cry from inside the house rooted him to the spot.

Kallifen hesitated, something he rarely did even during the most heated of battles. Ironic that it was a matter of life that gave him pause rather than a matter of death. Someone was still alive inside the house. Giving in to his curiosity, Kallifen entered the place. It was an infant's cry. The fools who had assaulted the house were so sloppy that they actually left survivors. Immediately upon entering, he was greeted by a sharp smell similar to rusting iron; the smell of blood. A woman, likely the lady of the house, lay dead on the floor. Blood had pooled from the stab wounds on her torso to the floor. Propped against the wall lay a man, his hand still clutching a bloody knife, he suffered the same wounds as his wife, as Kallifen assumed. Close to the two was the cloaked corpse of the fifth member of their murderers. A gash that nearly tore his throat out proved to be his undoing. Kallifen could just imagine what this supposedly well-trained killer was thinking when he realized that he had been killed by some laborer, a potter as Kallifen could deduce from the supply of clay outside and the potter's wheel nearby. The woman was likely a simple housewife. Another cry forced Kallifen to abandon his thoughts about the scene and rush to the room where he heard the sound.

'They didn't even touch this room. They probably thought the job was done when the target was dead.'

The infant's room was untouched. Kallifen went directly to the crib. The infant was probably only months old. He had a tuft of curly brown hair on his head and the brightest green eyes Kallifen had ever seen. On impulse, the assassin lifted the infant from the crib and cradled him with one arm. Even a dunce could tell that this boy will would die if left alone in this house. With the child in his arms, Kallifen returned to the first room. He paused for a while, silently asking forgiveness for not aiding them and for permission to take care of the child as restitution.

"Solcry…"

A shudder ran through Kallifen's spine as he looked around in alarmed caution. Someone had spoken. The first thing that came to his mind was that someone had seen him. A careless mistake if he ever made one. When he saw no one, a chill made him shiver. He glanced at the bodies, just to make sure they were dead. Then he kept his guard up as he waited for the voice to speak again. No sound ever came forth and Kallifen dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. Still, it got him curious about the infant's family background. While he planned to take care of the boy, he had no intention of making the boy his son. As soon as this infant was old enough, he would know the truth. Kallifen wanted to at least give the boy his right family name to remind him of his identity.

'Perhaps some documents around here will tell me.'

Kallifen entered another room. The infant had settled down a bit, perhaps in anticipation of food or simply because of a reassuring presence. It took Kallifen only a few minutes of rummaging through some legal documents to find what he was looking for. The man's name was Cledros Solcry. He was the son of a potter and had likely inherited the trade. Like any law-abiding citizen of Morroc, he paid his taxes, including the Pronteran tribute.

'Solcry, that word I heard then. How strange.

Kallifen looked at the infant and allowed himself a smile.

"Solcry it is then. Let's get you fed or all of it would be for nothing."

His business done and his curiosity satisfied, Kallifen left the crime scene undetected. Let the morrocan patrols discover it and pick up the remaining scraps.

"Tell me of those assassins, Kallifen."

It was a couple of hours later when Kallifen's employer summoned him to make his report.

"I've confirmed that they did not belong to Silksilence or Needledeath, Lord Eviskrae. They were merely new inductees from the order of assassins. I killed them after confirmation as per your orders."

Nasq Eviskrae, a veteran rogue in his mid thirties, leaned back on his seat. That was one less worry for him tonight. He had thought that those assassins were covers for some movement from his guild's rivals. With the order of the day settled, he turned to more trivial and amusing matters.

"I hear that you brought back an infant from that mission."

Kallifen kept his face straight. Nasq was in a relaxed mood but that did not mean he could start acting casual before his employer.

"Yes, I plan to take care of him. Out of respect for his fallen parents of course."

The assassin spoke the truth at that. His informants had told him the reason for the boy's parent's deaths. The potter had sent an assassin to the gallows, attracting the wrath of the man's friends. It was a brave act nonetheless, as proven by its fatal consequences.

"What a coincidence, being a few months old, he would be around the same age as my Trynis. It seems we are both new parents, Kallifen."

Kallifen allowed himself a smile in his employer's presence. He had been Nasq's assassin ever since he was a mere thief seeking employment in the Eviskrae household. The previous Lord Eviskrae, Nasq's father, had tasked him to be his son's personal servant.

"True, perhaps they will also have the same fate as ours, Lord Nasq."

Nasq laughed at the irony that would present. It wasn't impossible either. When his daughter Trynis came of age, she would also have her personal servant.

"Perhaps, Kallifen, perhaps. Have you given the boy a name yet."

Kallifen nodded again. He had deliberated on the name earlier. He was resolved in keeping the child's surname as Solcry. As for the name, he borrowed an old elven word used since the time of Osiris' imperial assassins. It was part of their code of loyalty, a code that Kallifen still used, even though younger assassins of the current age thought of it as obsolete. _Mei'calthas_, "born to service". It was to be the boy's fate for as soon as he grew up, he would be a servant in the Eviskrae household.

"His name will be "Makaelthos Solcry"."

(A/N): This is only a short for now but I might take this later and use it as a prologue for a more comprehensive backstory.


	23. Pair

**Pair**

"Salnus!"

Medrin called the name out like it was a word for some great emergency. That and him striding furiously across the academy dorm's hallways had mages jumping up wondering if Salnus was code for catastrophe. For the soon-to-be wizard, it was a prelude to one. He and Salnus were partners for the upcoming presentation, one that would carry a lot of impact in their studies of magic.

One that Salnus should be researching on this very moment.

"Senior Ithred, I think I saw Senior Zaisen leave the dorm a few hours ago." One of the new students had taken the risk of talking to Medrin. He stopped and turned on the boy so quickly that the new dormer yelped in surprise. It wasn't an unusual reaction. Medrin Ithred, in his fourth year as a mage, was quite an intimidating sight. He was tall for a geffenese man with his russet hair cropped so short that he was practically bald. As if to drive a point home, Medrin kept a thin moustache and a goatee. Salnus called the look "diabolical" and suggested that Medrin carry around a pitchfork and focus on fire spells. Brown eyes, "plain" as Salnus called them, "dull as mud puddles" as Medrin admitted, looked through deep sockets. Lines of sleeplesness circled Medrin's eyes and his perpetually furrowed eyebrows made him look belligerent indeed. His long, curved nose made him look like some scavenging bird about to pick on the carcass of the poor freshman who had drawn his attention.

"Thinking now, are we? That's quite the good habit to start your stay here, freshie. Mind impressing me further by telling me where he could have gone to?" Medrin asked. For a moment, the boy was quiet, perhaps too intimidated or just confused as to just how sarcastic or sincere his senior was being.

"H-he was singing something about flameburst petals. No one asked where he was going." The freshman answered.

Medrin gave a grunt of annoyance in response, gritting his teeth hard. 'God damn it, Salnus, I thought you were kidding about traipsing about looking for flameburst flowers.' He thought. He patted the freshman on the shoulder absent-mindedly and moved on. "That's good enough, kid, get back to your books." He told the boy. He strode towards his room to grab his cloak and then head on out.

"Hey, Medrin! Fancy meeting you here!"

Before Medrin could grab his mage cloak from his room, someone had caught him just by the hallway. He knew the voice. He turned around sharply to see if he was right. "Salnus, you addled fool! Where have you been!? We have a few weeks before our presentation! Good God, man! You're covered in mud and is that a twig stuck in your hair!?" He shouted across the hall. Salnus didn't reply at once. Instead he brought out a a handful of cut flowers, long petals, some dark orange while others completely red stuck out. They were flameburst flowers alright. Medrin slapped his head in annoyance.

"I was right, Medrin! The best ones really do grow just north of Geffen! She's sure to love these; took me a while to find them and longer to get to them!" Salnus crowed. The sight was a strange one indeed. Here was another senior mage, a few inches shorter than Medrin but still quite tall. His cloak was streaked with mud and his long, red hair was tangled with leaves as it fell limp on his shoulders. Salnus seemed to provide a counterpoint to all of Medrin's sharp features. He was clean-shaven, with a small nose and bright blue eyes. His face was clear of stress or fatigue. He had thin lips that parted into grins easily and his forehead did not have the wrinkles that came from too much frowning.

"The God damned presentation, Salnus! Get your brain in gear! We're supposed to be making the finishing touches soon! Get those flowers out of my face! You know I hate the smell of flowers! Dump them in a vase somewhere and let's-did you say she? What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?" Half-way through his tirade, Medrin caught the word "she" and paused. There was something he was forgetting here, something Salnus remembered.

"Didn't I tell you before? The annual academy party is coming up! I know I told you that I was going to ask Erina Sayarin to dance."

"Oh? And when did you tell me? During one of your foolish daydreams? I swear, Salnus, I might have been better off doing this with someone stupider! I can't believe you're going to bother with the dance with our studies on the line!"

"Oh, I've got most the materials. The easy stuff is all done. The hard part is asking Erina to the dance. You were her classmate in Master Hegdras's fire lecture right? I really need your help here!"

"Erina Sayarin eh? How about wearing something fireproof for starters? Want to know something about her? How about the time she got so nervous over our exams that she started lighting everything within reach on fire? God, that was crazy. Half the women's dormitory nearly burned to a crisp. She's a prodigy but a complete loony just like-!" Medrin stopped and then looked at Salnus. His partner was still standing in the hallway, holding to a rather messy bunch of flamebursts. Apparently the sage-to-be had done most of the research. "The easy part" as he called it. Medrin suddenly came to understanding. "Just like you..." His voice trailed off for a while while he contemplated this. "Damn it, Salnus, you're right. You've got most of the research done anyway. I have got to hook you up with Erina. Between the two of you nutcases that waste of time called the dance is bound to end prematurely in some explosion and everyone can get back to studying! Come along!"

Salnus looked at Medrin and grinned. Apparently he had only heard the part about being helped with asking Erina out, blocking the "you nutcases" part and the "wearing something fireproof" part as well. Together, the two of them headed out of the men's dormitory and straight for the women's. He took the twig out of his hair and combed it out a bit with his fingers, completely ignoring the bedraggled state of his clothes.

"You're a pal, alright, Medrin!"

Medrin didn't seem to to hear Salnus. He was striding ahead; rubbing his palms together.

'And with the two of you dating, the headmaster is bound to approve of your presentation if only to rid the academy of a brewing catastrophe by sending you to Juno as quick as possible! I get a free graduation out of it for being paired with you! God damn it, Salnus, you've come up with a sure-fire way to get us through the presentation and all you did was dig around the dirt for flowers!'


	24. Valor

**Valor**

The base of Mt. Mjolnir was a prelude to majesty. Its slowly rising slope, steadily growing steeper as it gained height, was covered with lush vegetation. As Rune-Midgard's highest mountain, it was an unmistakable landmark, visible even to the elves living in the floating city of Juno. The vegetation around it was among the most exotic in Rune-Midgard, featuring gigantic flowers of different colors, grass that could reach heights to cover a man completely and enormous trees covered in creeping vines, leaving them green from leaves to roots. The sight of such color was not without danger. Among the plants, tall stalks of flora, vicious and carnivorous plants dotted the slopes. These plants were as tall as a mounted human with dull green leaves and a single, giant, red-petaled flower to top it. The flower's center, instead of having pistils or stamens, had a tooth-ringed mouth that it used to bite unwary prey. Blood, more than sunlight or water, nourished flora. Argiopes also prowled among the bushes. These enormous worm-like insects, recognizable by their hairy, vivid red bodies that reached up to ten feet in length, were ambush predators, hiding in the foliage and then biting with their poisonous pincers. Smaller mantis would flit among the plants, nearly invisible with their thin, green bodies.

For the past few days, however, all these creatures were scrambling for hiding places. Far more dangerous predators had invaded the base of Mt. Mjolnir. From the north came the elven advance army from Al de baran led by Lord Knight, Khirlintas. The elven knights in front were clad in silver, catching stray bits of sunlight and gleaming within the darkened canopy. From the southwest came the invading army of humans, led by Lord Knight Salendriel. Clad in pitiless, black armor, the human knights marched in close ranks, resembling a slowly moving tide of blackness. The two armies had been fighting for days now. Superior human infantry was slowly driving the elven front line back but hidden elven arrow support and magic slowed them considerably.

"In Glastheim's name, drive their front line back! Don't let some skinny elf skirmisher get to our rear lines!" With a roar, Salendriel strode ahead of his men and smashed his shield into a pair of elven knights. The enormous plate of blackened elunium knocked both elves off their feet. Khatzbalger quickly sank into the chest of one. The other one back up to rise but Salendriel brought his boot up, kicking the elf's chin so hard that it split, spraying blood all over his boot. He shouted again, a deep, resounding roar that the knights of Glastheim echoed. His war cry was a clarion call to his men. Each time they heard it they redoubled their efforts. Among the elves, it was nightmarish, demonic, a horrid bellow from one of Glastheim's many monsters. One elf knight, young for an elf, as Salendriel guessed it, bolted at the sound. An older elven knight pushed the boy aside and moved in to engage him. 'Come, fool elf, your ears will make great stew!" Salendriel taunted. When the knight charged him he brought his shield forward. The kite-shaped plate of steel covered more than half his body. Its featureless, black, glancing surface made it looked more like a hole in reality rather than a shield. The elf's claymore struck it at full force, so hard that the blade snapped in two. The broken blade whistled as it spun across the air, landing point first near the elf's feet. Without so much as a word, Salendriel raised Khatzbalger and brought it down on his foe. The massive, gray blade, a two-handed sword for anyone else, crashed into the elf, breaking past his right pauldron and biting deep into his flesh. Salendriel's blow tore through his right arm, taking the limb off along with a quarter of his torso. He fell to the ground dead, the mossy ground turning crimson. The lord knight stepped on the corpse and kept moving forward. His men howled at the kill and smashed into the line of elven knights with renewed fervor.

"For Glastheim!" The knights shouted. The tore through their foes eagerly, each one concerned about nothing but adding to his personal glory. Even one's life seemed so small during these times. Suddenly an entire line of glastheimian knights vanished when a great explosion of fire blossomed at their center. The darkened forest floor momentarily lit up as if it were day. There were no screams. When the flames dissipated, there was nothing but charred bits of smoking armor.

Salendriel looked around, trying to find the location of the elven spell caster. He raised his shield in time and heard the thunks of arrows bouncing off it. His gaze fell on one robed elf female standing at the center of a protective ring of elven knights. He watched as her long, dexterous fingers weaved magic into another explosion of flames that took out another line of knights. He whirled about and found two of his knights fighting next to him. Despite their close-faced helms he recognized them easily. "Glavren! Ithros! Did the two of you see that elf whore cast her spell? Kill her!" He ordered. Without a word, the two saluted and ran straight into the protective circle. Another elven knight, the boy who had ran earlier, gathered the courage to attack him. The two locked blades temporarily. Underneath his closed faced helm, Salendriel looked into the elf's frightened blue eyes. He pushed against the boy slightly, his strength steadily winning out. He could shove to knock the boy down but he carefully pushed for now. When their faces neared he suddenly let out a great bellow, a war cry to encourage the two he had just sent forth. The boy fell back and Salendriel stood his ground. The elven knight tried to stand straight but his entire body was shaking. His long sword nearly dropped from his trembling fingers and he stumbled forward unsteadily. Salendriel raised Khatzbalger and brought it flat first on the boy's head. The elf's silver helm, decorated with wings and some gems, dented severely and blood burst from beneath it. The elf knight fell face first to the ground, his skull bashed in. Salendriel stepped back to see if his orders were being carried out.

The two knights ran straight for the protective circle of elf knights protecting the elven sage. Glavren, the faster runner, ran ahead and raised his shield. Sure enough, a volley of arrows flew from the nearby the trees. Most of them buried themselves on his shield but a pair found homes just below his left pauldron. The knight stumbled briefly but charged on, dropping his shield to the ground. The elf knights saw him and brought their spears forward.

"For Glastheim and Lord Knight Salendriel!" Glavren gave a great cry and leaped into the congested points. Eight spears burst through his armor, killing him instantly but his body trapped the weapons in place when he fell dead to the ground. Ithros echoed his ally's battle cry and leaped across the preoccupied elf knights. Another volley of arrows flew forth from the trees. Shieldless, Ithros caught them all on his chest. Blood gushed from his mouth as he stumbled forward but his momentum carried him straight towards the elven sage, who had just unleashed a great bolt of lightning towards a charging line of knights. When she turned to see what was happening, Ithros's claymore cleaved right through her neck. Another elven head rolled on the ground and a robed body followed it soon after. Furious, the elf knights turned on Ithros, hacking him apart with their long swords.

From afar, Salendriel nodded in satisfaction. The two knights completed their mission and died with utmost honor. Before the elf knights even finished mutilating Ithros's fallen body, a third line of human knights smashed right into them, hacking and slashing in a frenzy. The sight of Glavren and Ithros's success spurred them on stronger than three doses of berserk potion. Salendriel pushed on, determined to make his way to the command base of the enemy lord knight. Khirlintas will pay for the human blood this forest was drinking.

"For Glastheim!" He roared. In front of him, his enemies scattered like dead leaves.


	25. Provoke

A/N: This chapter contains some strong language.

**Provoke**

The swordsman academy of Izlude was a testament to the knight's way of viewing the world. It was simple in design, a tribute to sheer functionality. The building was an enormous, rectangular block that was divided into various rooms that all mimicked each other. No monuments adorned its front terrace. Instead, its surroundings were flat stretches of dirt where swordsmen and novices practiced their drills. While the outside was for physical drills, the academy's rooms served as places of learning where novices learned the basics of their chosen profession.

One such room was the place for Sir Relzon's class. The sign outside the door told everything about his class. While some of his peers taught the basics of bashing or "how to hit really hard" as he called it, he taught Provocation. A more subtle tool in a swordsman's belt he would claim. He was a tall man with a lanky frame and a rather long and hooked nose that seemed almost capable of cutting paper. He was clean-shaven with cropped, coppery hair and sunken eyes. Relzon never claimed he was handsome but often maintained that there were simply a lot more people uglier than him. He opened the door to his classroom and wasn't shocked to find only six students seated there. Not a lot of novices believed in provoking your enemy as more useful than "hitting really hard" or sword mastery or, as he called it, "hitting really well". He checked his list and matched faces with names before greeting them. "Alright, good morning class."

"Sir! Good morning, sir!" They stood and answered in unison before sitting back down.

"My name's Sir Relzon Elraxen. You can just call me Sir Relzon. I should remind you novices that since you have taken this class, you are all required to take Lady Mesinil's "Courtly Etiquette" class. You will not, I repeat, YOU WILL NOT be promoted to swordsman if you skip that class. Now that's aside let's get right into business, shall we?"

Relzon watched his class carefully. If any of them looked so much as sleepy, he was going to hurl them out the window. An interesting penalty for a class located in the third floor.

"Provocation is the proper use of words or gestures to achieve certain effects in the battlefield, which is the second home of a swordsman as you all should know. Using correct means of communication, a swordsman is able to produce the right emotions in his enemy to take advantage of. Now "why would I want to do this?", you may ask. I'll tell you. As you may know, a swordsman's fighting ability takes into factor his control of his emotions. Particularly anger. There is a healthy level of anger that every swordsman must have so that his blows are stronger than they normally would be if he was perfectly calm. Of course there's such a thing as being too angry and that leads to loss of control which, more often than not, leads to loss of limbs if not life. Pushing anger to unhealthy levels is as useful to a swordsman as, say, disarming him or poking an eye out. Provoking someone also has defensive purposes. Provoking someone keeps their attention on you and if they're so intent on killing you, that means they're not so intent on killing your buddies. Your acolyte can heal you without being clobbered or, if you have one, your thief friend can sneak up from behind and stab him somewhere unpleasant. And, as additional advantage, there's really no way to defend against provocation save for stopping your ears and you wouldn't want to lose your hearing in a fight."

His class was leaning forward now. Relzon smiled to himself, they never really understand its value until someone uses fancy jargon. This class would have left if all he said was that this class was all about pissing people off.

"Now, before I begin, let me remind you novices that provocation often involves coarse language. Profanity is just another tool in a swordsman's belt to help him win fights. We also use it to express emotions, particularly unpleasant emotions but just as important as the love and peace they will preach to you at the pronteran church. Profanity is often what keeps us knights from, say, shoving a lance up someone's ass out of sheer anger. Use it in the wrong occasions, however, and you may as well dip yourself in honey and run naked through ant hell. Don't think of it as dirty. Even a crusader will call your mother a ravening ditch pig if it helps the Church. Do you follow me so far?"

The class nodded its answer.

"Now, provoking some unintelligent beast is simple. No words necessary you just make yourself look bigger and look them in the eye. Provoking someone who can understand you, however, is where it gets interesting. An effective provoker will have the following traits. The first is variety; being a swordsman is the only profession, save for being a merchant, that encourages being multi-lingual. You don't have to learn every inflection in a language, just gather as much curses as possible. Acquaint yourself with the various terms and euphemisms regarding anatomy, sex, parentage and filth. You won't find much in High Pronteran, I recommend morrocan or orcish, now those are some fine provocation languages. Second is brevity; the longer your profanity, the more likely your enemy will lose the meaning halfway through your sentence. Keep it brief and emphasize your point. Calling someone a castrated filth-gorger is better than calling him a man with no balls who likes to eat dirty things. Third is controlled sensibility; a fight is no place to worry about being polite. Combat class has, no doubt, taught all of you to kick a man in the privates as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Likewise, a good provoker knows that no topic is ever sacred. If you hit a sore spot in the wrong person, you can always apologize later. Fourth is a discerning eye for details; if you can study someone before fighting him, that's good but good swordsmen can find sore spots even while dodging blows. Finally, there is good language skills; if you mispronounce your insult, it's pointless. Not only must a taunt have plenty of meaning, it should roll off your tongue smoothly and hit his ears like a swarm of hornets. Now everyone stand up!"

The class, who had been writing down notes on their provided notepads, stood in unison. He walked around them, studying each one in turn. There were a lot more boys than girls but that was never really a factor in anything.

"Alright, given what I've taught you so far, let's hear what you novices have! Waldern! Let's start with you! Provoke me!"

Waldern, a boy with his long black hair in a pony tail, a rich kid no doubt, hesitated briefly and then tried his luck. "You are a waste of flesh!" He called out.

"Save your poetry for etiquette class, Waldern! Next! Let's hear it, Vensan!"

"My grandmother fights better than you!"

"That just warmed the cockles of my heart, Vensan! Next! Say something useful, Narid!"

"You're just more garbage!"

"I am not the farm girl of your dreams, Narid! Stop trying to woo me! Next! You better have something, Dorl!"

"I'm going to gut you like the rotted phen that you are!"

"I don't swing my sword that way, Dorl! Even if I did, you wouldn't be my type! Next! Haelungrein, show me this class isn't hopeless!"

"I going to crush you under my heel like a half-dried fabre!"

"There are some fine ladies at the next class sampling milk tea and sharing their feelings, Haelungrein! You should go join them! Sialsanderin, do something!"

"I should shove you screaming back into that putrid sewer between your orc mother's legs!"

Relzon was quiet after hearing that. After a few moments he nodded with satisfaction. "That was vile, Sialsanderin, you may as well have crapped on the floor and then slung it at me. Class, take notes."


	26. Ramblings

Ramblings

Within the halls of the swordsman academy in Izlude, the third door to the right of the stairwell led to the quarters of one of the more infamous teachers in the school. Sir Relzon Elraxen taught the soon-to-be swordsmen the way of provoking. His reputation as knight was often whispered about in the hallways. Rumors were common among the novices that he had been involved in the infamous "girls in a barrel" incident over at Morroc decades ago and injuries from that time forced him to retire to the more sedentary life of teaching. His appearance seemed to give testament to that. He had the tanned skin of a morrocan but his bright, coppery hair, cropped to a few inches, hinted of a comodan in his bloodline. His most prominent feature was his long, hooked nose that hung from his face like an extra appendage. No one wanted to laugh about it. He was an expert in the skill he taught. A slight comment on his nose and he would expose every pimple you had on your body and then make people believe that they were the mere tip of a gigantic ice berg. He had haggardness about him; a man who had served as a knight for many years, but he also had a wild look in his dark brown eyes. Those sunken orbs did look like they belonged to someone who would be involved with the "girls in a barrel" incident. As a teacher, he was known for his unorthodox teaching style, though he claimed that if more teachers taught provocation they would realize that it was the norm. He yelled obscenities to make an Albertan sailor blush and threatened to hurl erring students out the windows. Then he would launch into stories or tirades in order to prove a point. His very few students would claim that if you listened closely enough, you always found something useful even in his more inane ramblings.

Perhaps his most curious habit came in the form of the small bulletin board he had in front of his quarters. Every end of every other week, he would have something posted there. Sometimes it would just be greetings for a passerby.

"_Hi there. Thanks for reading. ____"_

Or an incomprehensible message seemingly left for a specific person.

"_I warned you about using goat cheese. The Grand Wizard Commander has muscle pain every fifth of the month."_

A list would also make an appearance, often about nothing.

_I hereby propose a new set of names for the skills we teach seeing as these novices get all sorts of ridiculous notions as to what they're for._

_Bash – Hit really hard_

_One-handed sword mastery – Hit really well with swords_

_Two-handed sword mastery – Hit really well with big swords_

_Magnum Break – Make an explosion_

_Endurance – Run while taking a beating_

_Recovery – Patch yourself up_

_Provoke – piss someone off_

_And these revisions should be sent to the capital_

_Pecopeco riding – Get on a peco_

_Cavalier mastery – Fight on a peco_

_Pierce – Poke something big_

_Spear Stab – Push someone back with a spear_

_Spear boomerang (whoever came up with this horribly misleading name should have been strung up!) – Throw a spear_

_Brandish Spear – Hit everyone with a spear_

_Spear Mastery – Hit really well with spears_

_Counterattack – Hit back_

_Two-hand quicken – Hit really fast with big swords_

_Bowling bash – Hit everyone with a big sword_

Once in a while he would leave a message that actually got several novices reading and studying it carefully.

"_Dealing with a mage_

_People often accuse us swordsmen of being constantly angry people and that we resort to violence without thinking. I disagree. We're not so much constantly angry as we are "inclined to action" and we do a lot of thinking before we act. In fact, we are such a cautious lot that, while we were still babes in our mothers' arms, while the rest of the babies bawled for milk, we were already thinking through our responses to different situations. We just happened to decide that violence was a perfectly reasonable answer to most of those different situations. Hey, that's why we became swordsmen._

_Of course there are times when a swordsman really does get angry. Nothing crawls down his craw like a man in a dress (DON'T LET THEM CONVINCE YOU THEY'RE ROBES! THERE'S ONLY ONE KIND OF ROBE AND YOU'LL FIND THOSE IN ANY DECENT BATHROOM!) twiddling fingers and mouthing gibberish at him. Given the burning explosion, freezing or electrocution at the end of that ridiculous and convoluted ritual, it is perfectly natural for a swordsman to take it very personally. As if that specific mage had sneaked into his house while he was away and taken a peek at his little sister while she bathed._

_Should you find yourself being targeted by such an individual, keep in mind that this man has singled you out among your fellows for a horrible and disfiguring torrent of magic (and they say we swordsmen are violent). Do not feel guilty about the abuse you are about to heap on his skinny frame. First of all, don't panic even though it looks like you won't reach him in time to stop his first spell. Grab something handy and solid, you will often find one sitting on top of your head in the form of your helmet. A nearby vase or a rock will do just fine. Should you be so unfortunate as to find none of those, a stinging epithet can often do the trick (then you'll be thanking me for those lessons!) Knock their first spell out with a ringer on their head and close in. Don't forget to thank your teachers for making you run around the academy to build your speed! Once you have brought the battle to your terms, you may remind him that it is difficult to concentrate on spells with swollen lips, broken fingers and missing teeth. Peek at my little sister, will you!_

But the most popular of his "ramblings" had come to the attention of the head knight himself, who had the post taken and posted permanently by the novice dorms to be seen and understood by all. Sir Relzon didn't seem to notice what had happened.

_During my time on duty I had pretty much visited every major city on Rune-Midgard. Not really a boast, mind you, as the acolytes did all the warping and all I really saw of those cities were the insides of their cheapest inns and the occasional barracks. However, I did become acquainted to the fact that many people hold preconceptions about us. I suppose they hold plenty for everything. You too, will doubtlessly encounter these judgments. When you do encounter them, take some time in remembering my words before you either prove them right or crack their skulls for being a wise-ass._

_**Swordsmen are stupid **__– no doubt, a mage will tell you this and he'll be seated back, holding a fat book as if it was a monument to his supremacy. I will admit that we swordsmen don't have the mental capacity that mages do because, if we did, we'd be mages too. But being able to carry a sword and knowing how to swing it are two different things and sticking words in your head with hardly an idea how to put them to use is pretty much the same. We swordsmen can be smart; we just happen to be a bit more action-oriented. But that doesn't mean we don't take a learned approach to our methods. A mage will stupidly call it a kick to the knee, we know, however that it's "fracturing the patella". They're the ones who'll call it "clobbering the head" while we understand it more as "blunt trauma to the temporals". Of course we only call them that while theorizing with fellow swordsmen who have the brains for it so the fools never find out._

_**Swordsmen are slow – **__no doubt, a thief will tell you this while he's passing his knife from left hand to right, thinking he's very dexterous. Our movements are not slow, they are measured. Unlike certain, wasteful little bastards we have an awareness of our reserves of stamina. We don't go cart wheeling about just because someone makes a little stabbing motion. We also have the patience to take things in a relaxed manner. The next time some brown-coated fool calls you slow and you're not in danger of being gutted from behind, you may take off the sixty pounds of metal you wear all day and challenge him to a foot race. He'll be eating your dust after the first mile if he's not slinking away in shame._

_**Swordsmen have nothing at long range **__– no doubt, an archer will tell you this while making a futile attempt to impress you with his marksmanship. Inform this person that, while we may not be specialized with their glorified bits of stringed wood, we have various tricks and tactics to bring the fight up close and personal and a cold piece of steel to gut is more painful than, say, getting conked on the head with that twig he's toting about. If getting close is not quite an option, a swordsman can count on his practiced arm to have plenty of throwing power and he'll always have some nearby ammunition such as those found in this list._

_Helmet_

_Sword_

_Stones_

_Severed body parts_

_Household items_

_Choice words_

_**Swordsmen are irreverent – **__no doubt, an acolyte will tell you this and then ask why you don't attend all the masses he does or why rely too much on your sword-arm. As a deeply religious man, I take special offense to this remark. Swordsmen can be just as pious as acolytes. In fact, we hold God in such awe and respect that we wouldn't dream of asking for his help over piddling things. The forces of evil pissing you off? God gave you your fist to deal with it. If that's not enough, he gave you fingers to grip a sword. Imagine having ten children tugging at your sleeve for every splinter or scraped knee. Imagine there's a thousand of them and you'll have a very miniscule idea of what God deals with on a daily basis._

_There are more, of course, lots more. Besides protecting the capital's interests, you'll find that finding these and dealing with them to be part of a swordsman's purpose in life._

As part of his order to move the rambling note to the novice quarters, the head knight had strict orders never to let the note's existence be known to members of other professions. "They wouldn't understand." He said. "They'd take it personally, as if Sir Relzon had snuck into their homes and peeked at their little sisters while they bathed." He had added with a slight smile. The note remains within the academy up to the present.


	27. Mak and Ryn

**Mak and Ryn**

"I'm finished with the potatoes, Kerlus, what should I do now?"

The seven year old boy spoke earnestly, his face showing no signs of eagerness to leave at once or the boredom associated with the drudgework he had been tasked to. Kerlus, head chef of the Eviskrae household, found that it took some effort not to look surprised when his newest kitchen boy, Makaelthos Solcry, walked up to him with news that the potatoes were all peeled. That was only a couple of hours ago. Kerlus assigned the boy to the task, expecting him to take all morning. It was the chef's way of making sure the boy didn't get underfoot while the kitchen staff prepared lunch for the master of the Eviskrae house. Someone the boy's age would have been stuck on the job, labouring on those spuds, cutting their hands more often than they did the potatoes. Makaelthos did not get stuck. He had observed how Kerlus peeled them then imitated the actions. He was a little slow at the start but quickly got the hang of it. A truly strange thing, he was too young for efficiency.

But that now left Kerlus in a bit of a bind. Kallifen had come to his kitchen that morning with the boy, asking him to let Makaelthos do some chores as he was a servant of House Eviskrae, just like all of them and he had come to the proper age. Even Kerlus could tell that the boy wasn't meant to grow up as just another kitchen boy, peeling vegetables until he grew old. He was Kallifen's ward and that meant something greater. But it also meant that he was a servant of the Eviskraes and a servant had to start somewhere. The chef shook his head and grumbled to himself. All the other chores were taken care of and Makaelthos had no other option other than sit by some corner and wait. Unless..."You know what, Makaelthos, why don't you have the rest of the morning off? We're done here until lunch."

Kerlus half-expected the boy to beam a bit at a chance to get off work early and get back to his idle time. Half, since the other half knew that this boy wasn't like the others. Sure enough, Makaelthos didn't look elated, he looked worried. At least, Kerlus thought he was. The boy's placid green eyes, too bright to make him completely morrocan, didn't flicker in the slightest. All the chef got was a lack of an immediate response and then a little twitch of the boy's lips. The chef patted the boy on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you've done some fine work today, Makaelthos, Kallifen will know that from me." It didn't surprise Kerlus either when Makaelthos's expression lightened up. What held him back the most was likely Kallifen's disapproval and having someone vouch for him was reassuring.

"Alright, Mister Kerlus. I will be back after lunch." Makaelthos's tone was even. Perhaps he didn't want to sound too excited as to appear eager to not have to work or perhaps, having breaks really didn't mean that much to him. Kerlus nearly shuddered when the boy left before he went back to getting lunch ready for the Eviskrae family.

Makaelthos stood out in the sun for a while, stretching his back felt great after a few hours of sitting on a stool and peeling potatoes. He was at the grounds behind the Eviskrae manor which boasted of a fine garden under the shade of the palatial home. The rich soil, carefully maintained lest it become sandy like the rest of Sograt Desert, allowed many desert plants to grow here. The ground was covered with grass, a rarity in the desert. Tough, woody shrubs of the desert grew at one part of the garden as well as prickly cacti. Small, pinkish flowers topped the pear-shaped bulbs while spines covered them everywhere else. Rising above them were the trunks of the palm trees, gracefully bending several feet into the air before displaying fan-like leaves. The manor's servants kept the place irrigated through the nearby well. The gardeners had just finished watering the place as Makaelthos noticed that they weren't around. Despite expecting it, Makaelthos's heart partly sank when he noticed that no one was around. He often played here with the rest of the household children when Master Eviskrae allowed it. Entire families of household staff lived around Eviskrae Manor. Most of them stayed in long, residential building near the manor which had a single, common kitchen. Makaelthos knew and played with the children of these servants, even though he stayed with Kallifen, who had his own private home also close to the manor. As recently as a week ago, he would spend entire days just playing in this garden; running races, playing tag and catching sand mice. That was before, though. The time had come for the children to start helping with the chores of Eviskrae Manor. They would continue to help their parents until they became the next generation of servants. Kallifen had mentioned that it had been so for over five generations of Master Eviskraes. Despite knowing that the rest of his friends were around helping their parents, Makaelthos came here simply because he didn't know where else to go. Kerlus wanted him out of the kitchen so he wouldn't get in the way. That much he knew so he would sit here and wait until he had some work to be done.

"Gotcha!"

The sudden cry nearly made Makaelthos jump. Someone else was around the garden. The cry was quickly followed by a furious scrabbling over grass. There were several frightened squeaks and then a pitched "Ow!" After that was silence. Curious, Makaelthos took cover behind some bushes and then started to look around. The cry sounded like it came from someone his age. A girl's voice as far as he could tell but from no one he knew. He didn't want to be seen lest it was a child of one of Master Eviskrae's acquaintances. After a few moments of searching he finally found the person. He was right; it was a girl around his age. Knees bent and ankles parallel to her waist, she was sitting on the grass, holding her right hand and pressing it against the, rather dirty, white shirt she wore. A sand mouse darted away from her and into the bushes.

Makaelthos noticed all those later, though. When he first laid eyes on her all he saw was her hair. Wavy, white hair, as white as the few clouds he saw in the sky, touched up to her shoulders. The sight of that made him breathless as well as extremely nervous. He knew only one person in the manor who had white hair and this was his first time seeing her so close. For a while he just stood there, wondering he should alert her of his presence. She looked a bit different from the times he and his friends saw her from afar. He remembered the long, flowing dress she was wearing at that time and the expressionless face she wore. Right now, her clothes said nothing of her upbringing as heir to the Eviskrae Manor. She looked like another servant's child, if it wasn't for the hair.

"Are...are you alright?" Makaelthos ventured to ask. He nearly jumped back when she suddenly stood up and whirled to face him in surprise. Light brown eyes, nearly as golden as the sand dunes out in the desert landed on him, wide with panic. Instinctively, she put her hands behind her back. The panic swiftly abated once she realized that he was alone, though. A somewhat guilty grin spread on her face and she let her hands go to her sides. Makaelthos noticed that the index finger of her right hand had a small cut, likely bitten by a sand mouse for gripping too tightly. It wasn't bad, though. She did sound more surprised that hurt when he heard her cry out.

"Oh, um...yes. I'm alright. It's not so bad. You scared me, though. I thought you were one of the maids coming for me!" She answered.

Makaelthos relaxed a bit. She wasn't as scary as he thought she'd be. From his impression of her, he thought she'd act more coldly and treat him like a serving boy. Kallifen had long told him about this girl. She was Trynis Eviskrae, the only child of the current master of Eviskrae Manor, Nasq Eviskrae. Kallifen had instructed him carefully that she was the young mistress of the manor which meant that he had to behave around her. Of course, the young mistress was also the frequent subject among the servants' children. They were particularly fascinated by her appearance. Her white hair certainly did not come from her father. No one knew who her mother was except that she was never around. Even the other servants agreed that she was dead. Makaelthos had asked Kallifen once. The assassin sternly told him to never bother about the subject. Trynis's mother wasn't around and never will be. What was more important was how to behave around the young mistress. The other children left the subject alone when Makaelthos told them Kallifen's reply. They had their own ideas about the young mistress. Since she played with the children from other rich morrocan families instead of with them, they thought of her as something of a princess. A little stuck up, delicate and spoiled. All those ideas got tossed aside once Makaelthos saw her up close though. She didn't look like a princess. She wasn't even wearing a dress. She had a white shirt on, which was streaked with dirt, as well as a pair of brown trousers. More streaks of dirt covered her arms and legs. 'I'm sorry, Mistress Trynis, but may I ask what you're doing?" He asked her.

Trynis looked about, trying to see if anyone else had seen her. Sure that there was no one around, she dropped on all fours and searched the grass. "Shh...I'm trying to catch sand mice. Do you see any?" She answered.

Makaelthos looked around. Sand mice often came to the garden and he, like the other children, believed that there was a nest close-by. He knew that since he often caught the small rodents when he played here. He spotted one hiding by the bushes, likely to avoid the girl who had been scrabbling after it for a while. He carefully approached it from one side and, with one swift motion; he made a grab for it, avoiding the teeth and getting a firm grip. He made sure not to hold too tightly as to not get the creature angry. Animal in hand, he walked towards the young mistress and offered her the mouse. Trynis had sat back in surprise when he caught the creature.

"How'd you do that? You only tried once and I've been trying for so long!" She asked.

"You just have to catch them from the side and not grip so tight so they don't bite." Makaelthos explained. He didn't think she heard him but he watched curiously as Trynis brought out a small bag and stuffed the mouse inside it. She looked at him eagerly, excitement and anticipation brightening up her features.

"Can you catch more?" She asked him. "I need to get three or so!"

Makaelthos nodded his consent. This was Mistress Trynis after all and he should do as she told him. It took him a while but he eventually caught the two required mice. They scrabbled inside the bag, squeaking in protest until Trynis stuffed the bag inside her shirt to muffle their noise. The girl was hopping in place out of excitement while the two were being caught. When Makaelthos handed her the third one she immediately ran ahead, waving an arm to get Makaelthos to follow her. "Come on!" She called. "This is going to be fun!"

Makaelthos hesitated again, wondering if he should be doing this. Realizing that he was "working" despite this not likely what Kallifen or Kerlus had in mind, he went along. Servants, above all else, did what their masters told them to. If Kallifen served Master Nasq, it was natural to think that, as the next generation, he should serve Mistress Trynis. He ran to catch up with her, a difficult task as the young mistress ran really fast. When he finally caught up to her, she crouching under a window. Makaelthos recognized the building as it was near the kitchen he worked in. This was Letros's kitchen. Letros was the father of his friend, Egir, and the Eviskrae Manor's baker. He crouched next to the young mistress, careful not to brush against her. "What are you going to do, Mistress Trynis?" He whispered.

She shushed him again before taking a peek over the window. She returned to her crouch and made sure that she had the mice. When she talked again, her voice was hushed and quivered with mischief. "I'm trying to get a sweet bun from Letros before lunch but he always knows I'm the one who did it if he finds one missing and I end up not getting any for dessert. Well, not this time!"

Makaelthos nodded, understanding. Letros the baker had warned him and the rest of the children that the sweet buns he baked were for Mistress Trynis alone, who had a fondness for the bite-sized, cream-filled pieces of bread. Egir tried to take one once and was severely beaten for it and was then made to show the angry red welts all over his arms, legs and backside. No one wanted to try again after that. Makaelthos also heard stories from Egir that Letros would often talk of how the young mistress would always try to take them before her meals. No one actually caught her even once but she was the only suspect. "Help me get up there!" The young mistress suddenly nudged him from his thoughts. She was scrambling up the windowsill until Makaelthos boosted her up with both hands. From there she entered the bakery's window. Makaelthos clambered up just in time to see her take a couple of sweet buns from their place. After that she broke up a third bun and set the mice on the entire batch. Then she scrambled out the window with her prizes. "Let's get out of here!" She said as she stifled a giggle. Still dazed at the success of such a bold attempt, Makaelthos followed. Once they were out of sight, the young mistress giggled mischievously before taking a large bite out of one sweet bun. Makaelthos looked back and caught the sound of someone yelling.

"What in the-!? Sand mice snacking on my buns!" That was Letros's heavy tone which was followed by a loud thud and then the crashing noise of a plate breaking. Letros was still cursing when they decided to move farther away from the scene of their crime. When they were back in the garden the young mistress stuffed the rest of the first bun into her mouth. She was panting, grinning and chewing all at once with bits of crumbs falling down her chin. Makaelthos was breathless too. He was somehow elated at their success. Mistress Trynis had succeeded in getting her buns and then blaming the loss on sand mice. She surprised him again, however when she offered him the second bun.

"I can't-I mean, those are for you." Makaelthos protested.

Trynis didn't take the bun back. Her mouth was still full when she spoke, a trickle of cream running down the corner of her lips. "Don't be silly. You got the mice. Have one, sweet buns are the best!" She answered.

A little hesitantly, Makaelthos took the bun and sank his teeth into it. The bread flattened by Trynis's grip and a lot of cream had oozed out of the cracks that resulted but he ate the whole thing at once. The sweetness seemed to make him hungrier rather than filling him up. The cream felt ticklish as it covered his tongue like a smooth sheath. It was the best bun he had ever tasted.

"Hey."

Makaelthos shifted his attention back to the young mistress. The girl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, wiping her mouth on the edge of her shirt. "Yes, Mistress Trynis?" He replied. It sounded so natural for him when he said that. Perhaps all children of servants naturally took to such words.

"What's your name? You know mine already!"

"It's Makaelthos. Makaelthos Solcry." He answered. He didn't understand why but Kallifen insisted that he remember his family name, even though he never knew his family. The assassin told him to use it when he formally introduced himself.

"Ma-ka-el-thos..." Trynis spoke the name slowly and was quiet for a while, as if trying to get a good feel of the name. Then her eyebrows furrowed. "That's too long. I'll just call you Mak, alright?"

Makaelthos nodded. Kallifen often called him that and so did his friends. "Of course, Mistress Trynis."

"You can call me Ryn. Forget the "mistress" stuff okay?"

It was Makaelthos's turn to get a feel of the word. It would be strange to call the young mistress of the manor "Ryn" but it was what she wanted. "Sure, M-Ryn..."

"So how come you're not working like the other children are? Don't your mom and dad have something for you to help out with?" She asked.

Makaelthos shrugged his shoulders, remembering why he wasn't working. He was thinking a while ago that maybe he should have peeled a little slower. After the escapade with...Ryn, however, he was having second thoughts about that. "I finished really early. Kerlus didn't know what else I could do before lunch. What about you?"

It was only later that Makaelthos would be surprised at the boldness of his question. Right now, Ryn talked to him as if they were the best of friends and he was responding to her tone. Ryn grinned again, a mischievous flash of white teeth that an adult would have called impish. The she stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"I'm supposed to be "playing" with Schrieden, dad's friend's son. But he's so boring. All he wants to do is play "Pronteran Melee" like he's any good at it. I have to try to lose for a few turns just so the game won't end so fast so I pretended I needed to go pee and then ditched him! What an idiot! He's probably with my maids, looking for me!"

Makaelthos smiled in return. He was about to say something more when Ryn interrupted him.

"Say, maybe you can play a lot better than him! We've got some time before lunch, I'll teach you, come on!"

Makaelthos found himself being dragged to another part of the garden with plenty of stones and a flat, grassy ground. Ryn got some stones and placed them into two stacks, handing him one of them and then laying out her stones in a pattern.

"Okay, so this is how you set your pieces..."

* * *

"I'm soooo tired..."

Makaelthos smiled sympathetically and nodded at his friend. They managed to sit around the communal kitchen after the day's work. The kitchen was an enormous room, big enough for twenty to sit around while someone cooked by one corner. There was a long, wooden table, flanked by six log benches along its length. A clay stove, big enough to accommodate the enormous pots that Kerlus used, was by one corner. That was the eighth time he heard that phrase and it had come to the point that he was counting it. Everyone was tired. It was the first day of their helping out in the household chores. After lunch, Kerlus had made Makaelthos help with even more peeling as well as slicing and carrying food around and then taught him to watch the soup and stew. He had done all of that without a word of complaint. He figured that he would only get into trouble with Kallifen if Kerlus heard him complaining. Besides, they all had to work. It was the only reason Master Eviskrae kept them around in the first place. Every one of his friends was a son or daughter of a servant. There was Lerk who was the stable manager's son. He spent the day hauling feed for the manor's pecopecos. Everyone sat a little distance away from Lerk since he smelled of old feathers and feed. There was Mayra, who spent the day running errands for her mother, who worked as a maid inside the manor. Of the eight times Makaelthos heard "I'm sooo tired." Mayra was responsible for six. She was content to lie on the floor and stretch out her limbs. Then there was Egir. Makaelthos sat as far away from Egir, even if he had to sit close to Lerk. Egir had just received a scolding from his father for moving so slowly. They spent a very frantic hour making a fresh batch of sweet buns when the last one was eaten by sand mice. Makaelthos didn't know if he should apologize to Egir and tell him that the sand mice were not really the culprits and that the young mistress managed to get the baker to work frantically just so she could have a double helping of sweet buns. To take his mind off that, Makaelthos looked around for another friend. "So where's Stedras?" He asked. Stedras was the son of a rogue who was part of Kallifen's squad. Since he couldn't go and help his father during missions, he was assigned to another part of the manor like Makaelthos.

Mayra shook her head and shrugged. "I thought you'd know, Mak. Both of you had to help out someone else besides your dads."

Makaelthos didn't answer. Unlike him, Stedras had a mother who worked as a gardener in the manor.

"I'm here!" I must have worked harder than any of you since I'm the last!" Stedras staggered into the kitchen. He was panting and his dark hair was drenched in sweat but he was grinning. Makaelthos smiled in return, thinking that Stedras was just grinning in satisfaction or relief. His smile disappeared when everyone saw that Stedras was grinning at him.

Makaelthos flinched at the attention and silence so he decided to speak. "So how did your day go, Stedras?"

Stedras was still grinning when he answered. Brushing aside a clump of his shoulder-long, black hair, he stared at Makaelthos. "Hard! Mom made me rake and clip bushes and dig holes! My arms feel like rubber!"

Egir finally spoke up. "You're telling me! All that work in the bakery is making my fingers dance!"

Makaelthos sighed. "You mean twitch, Egir. This is just for starters."

"So what did they make you do, Makaelthos?" Egir asked.

Stedras laughed knowingly and elbowed Makaelthos. The rest of their friends couldn't relate. Makaelthos himself didn't know how to react or what was it that he was supposed to react to.

"Mak here spent the noon playing games with Mistress Trynis! I saw you when I was taking a break! It figures that you'll get the best job since Mister Kallifen is a friend of Master Eviskrae!"

Makaelthos practically cringed at the resulting gasps and "what!?" from his friends. All he could do was put up his hands in a weak attempt to fend them off and then look to Stedras. "How did you know? I mean, that's not all I did! Kallifen made me work in Kerlus's kitchen! I was on a break when I was with R-the young mistress!"

"Never mind that!" Stedras answered. He stood ahead of his friends, his brown eyes wide and staring like the rest of them. "We all worked hard and we all can tell." Stedras led the way as the children began a barrage of questions.

"You were with Mistress Trynis!? What was she like?"

"Is she really cute like we see her from afar?"

"Was she wearing the fancy clothes we saw being delivered once?"

"What did she smell like? Does she really bathe in perfume?"

"What about her hair? Did you touch it? Was it real?"

Makaelthos tried to move back but everyone had him backed against a wall, their faces demanding answers. He cast about his mind, piecing together a reply to answer as many questions as possible with the least number of words. The young mistress was friendly and...Nice. He wasn't sure if she was really nice, though. She was nice to him but it wasn't nice to steal sweet buns and blame mice for it. It wasn't nice to "ditch" someone you were playing with. But she had treated him to her favourite desert and laughed and smiled when she taught him her favourite game. Was that only because he had caught mice for her? Would she be as nice to his friends? Nice or not, she was really cute. Even more so than how he and Stedras tried to speculate. She certainly wasn't dressed in fancy clothes and she didn't smell of perfume. He didn't touch her hair even though he wanted to. He was sure it was real though. With answers to all the other questions, he decided to go with "she was nice" for the first one. Even if he was wrong, he could always say "She seemed nice". He decided to keep the whole sand mice part out. He was still uneasy with that. Confident with all his answers, Makaelthos opened his mouth.

"Stop this entire racket! Dinner is ready!"

Makaelthos sighed with relief as the questions stopped when Kerlus entered the kitchen with an enormous pot of stew. The room quickly filled with people as the parents joined their children for the meal. Makaelthos's friends went to their respective parents. No one talked about Mistress Trynis with adults around. It was a quick way to a scolding. Makaelthos left the kitchen while everyone was still eating. He ate his meals with Kallifen. Right before he left, however, he caught Stedras grinning at him again. The boy winked before his mother cuffed him for not paying attention. Stedras didn't mind though. He even risked a scolding when he suddenly called out "You've got a head start, Mak! But I'll catch up!"

Makaelthos smiled in return and closed the door behind him.


	28. Buried Times

**Buried times**

The Sacred Spawning Pools of the Payon Caves was the very heart of sohee society. Found within the very depths of the massive underground complex where the sohees resided, it was from these pools that sohee young emerged into the world of Rune-Midgard, to be taken care of by one of the various tribes until its corporeal body was fully matured.

No human, or any other living thing for that matter, had ever seen the sacred pools. The sohee guarded their homes fiercely and, as invading expeditions found out, as intruders went farther into the caves, the greater the resistance became. The cavern's entrance was narrow, making it easily defended. Accessible only through a single passageway found at the center of the sohee settlements, even finding the pools proved a difficult task.

Within the cavern was a sight unlike any other within the Payon Caves. The massive chamber's ceiling was at least a mile high and embedded on the stones above the pools were strange glowing crystals that bathed the place with a soft, white light. The ground was not the hard stone found elsewhere in the caves but a soft loam covered with various green plants seemingly able to draw sustenance from the light that filled the cave.

The pools themselves were parts of a single body of water. A great torrent welled up from the center of the gigantic cavern which then divided into three great streams. Each stream ran a different direction from the others, running for miles before disappearing into underground passages. From these great streams flowed smaller streams which collected into various pools found all over the cavern. Sohee young emerged from these pools to be carried gently into the shore where their cries would draw the vigilant adults who patrolled the streams.

Each stream belonged to one of the three tribes of sohees who lived within the Payon Caves. Members of each tribe patrolled their own stream jealously as sohees born from their stream became the newest members of their tribes.

Upon closer inspection, however, an observer would notice that something was wrong with the pools. An inky crimson substance polluted each pool's surface. It exuded an ancient foulness and a strong feeling of being unnatural. Some pools, like many of those from the MistStream , were merely tainted while others, like many of RedLily's, resembled ponds of blood. This foulness seeped into the sohees at their very birth. It twisted their thoughts before they could even begin so that those who dwelled outside the caves knew them as demons.

Tonight, it was neither sohees from rival tribes nor intruding humans, _heisvill_, as sohees called them and all other lesser races, that worried the chieftain of the MistStream tribe. Helmina watched the ever hazy banks of her tribe's stream uneasily. It had been two months and not a single child had emerged from her tribe's stream. The MistStream's pools were constantly banked with vapor; the reason for the tribe's name.

"Still watching and waiting, Helmina?" A haughty voice spoke from behind. "Can't accept that your stream has exhausted itself trying to keep up with your tribesohees dying so often so that no more infants will come from it? This is the end of MistStream, accept it!"

The taunting words of the StillBreath chieftain, Gehinsa, did not move Helmina to fury. She was too concerned for her tribe and she feared that her voice would reveal that she harbored thoughts that Gehinsa could be right. Instead, she stared at the StillBreath chieftain, mindful of the presence of a young sohee next to Gehinsa. Young Aiselha smirked at Helmina, already well indoctrinated with ideas of StillBreath superiority. She clung to Gehinsa's sleeve for security, knowing that, without her chieftain, she would be cut down for showing such insolence. There was no doubt that Aiselha would be next in StillBreath's line of chieftains. Gehinsa never left the child unguarded.

"And who would protect your coddled sohees when that happens, Gehinsa?" Helmina asked. "Who will guard the border tunnels if not we MistStream? Will you beg the MoonWander to take our place, hmm?" Two patrolling guards, their white and blue hair tassels making them out as MistStream, caught sight of her and Gehinsa and immediately floated over to stand beside their chieftain. "Should the MistStream fade, StillBreath and Red Lily will be poised to follow." Helmina allowed some arrogance into her tone as she said the words, more to anger Gehinsa than because of actual pride. She relished nothing about the thought of her tribe being no more.

Gehinsa spat in response, the spittle landing quite close to the MistStream, Helmina and her guards drew their life-stilletos in response. "Pah! You think you and your tribesohees actually matter?" She hissed. "MistStream will fade, Helmina, and you will not even cause a ripple when you go!" Two more sohees floated towards them. This time their hair tassels bore StillBreath red and gold. The very air around them tensed. It didn't take much for a gathering of rival sohees to escalate into a bloody knife fight. Gehinsa and her StillBreaths didn't seem to mind adding fresh blood to the stained pools of MistStream.

Helmina kept her life-stilleto up as she spoke. "You know that it is our law that sohees may not fight within the sacred spawning pools, Gehinsa."

The StillBreath chieftain sneered and began to float away along with her guards. "I don't see any other sohees here but me and my guards." She answered. "But I will spare you, Helmina. I want you to be the last of MistStream."

Helmina bit back another angry retort. There was no point in baiting Gehinsa anyway. MistStream had no members to waste on useless skirmishes. She turned around to dismiss her guards and go back to her brooding.

"Chieftain Helmina! Look!" One of her guards suddenly yelled. Helmina's gaze followed the pointing finger but, before she could even see what the guard was pointing at, she heard the cry. A child's cry coming from the MistStream. Helmina felt her heart jump at the sound. Finally! It had felt so long and the silence had started to grind her hope into nothing but, finally, the MistStream answered her doubts.

"Draw her in quickly!" She ordered her guards. They didn't need any orders. They were halfway to the floating child before she had said the words. One of them lifted the child gently, wrapping it in a blanket of soft white cloth. Helmina floated over to look at the child. The young sohee already had a full head of jet black hair. Dark red eyes looked around and fixated on Helmina. Tiny hands held a tiny stiletto tightly. 'The MistStream has not faded yet. Even if you are the last, you are a child of hope.' Helmina thought.

The silent words seemed to carry over to the child as the guard placed it in her arms. Helmina looked at the child's eyes, there was unusual clarity in them, as if the child saw things that no sohee could. Not only that, the child seemed to turn about, responding to sounds no one else could hear.

"Chieftain Helmina." One of the guards ventured. "What should be her name?"

Helmina held the child fondly. Perhaps she had found her new replacement. The last one, Ferinsa, had been killed by humans after recklessly attacking them. She looked at the two guards and spoke with conviction. "Her name will be Khaesilya." She told them.

As if in response, the pool where Khaesilya was found suddenly churned violently. Alarmed, the MistStream sohees took a closer look. The constant mist seemed to part for a while and, to their surprise, the water was clear.

When they blinked and took a closer look. The mist was back and, through the haze, the crimson taint stared back mockingly.

* * *

"This is our kill, filthy MistStream scum! Leave or we will season him with your guts!" Aiselha spoke the words proudly. Her life-stilleto, still dripping with blood, spattered the sticky liquid onto the robes of the MistStream sohees floating in front of her when she waved it for emphasis. She floated above the corpse of a payonese hunter who had ventured to deep into the caves. Her killing blow, a stab to the side of the neck, was still bleeding as she spoke.

"All you did was knife a half-dead hunter, Aiselha!" One of the MistStream sohees answered. "This kill belongs to MistStream and you know it!"

Aiselha floated slowly towards the sohee who had dared to answer her. She was head and shoulders taller than any of the sohees present and her tassels proudly displayed her tribe's colors. She was the next chieftain of StillBreath. "This kill belongs to me, filth." She hissed. She had already taken on Gehinsa's imperious tone. "His bones will flavor my tribe's stew and his meat will fill StillBreath bellies."

The three MistStream sohees, part of the patrol guarding the outskirts of their village, grudgingly floated back. They were tired and injured. They had fought this hunter as he made his way deeper into the caves. They blocked his escape route and harried him with their life-stilletos until he had to retreat blindly into the caves. There, he stumbled unto Aiselha and her group, who promptly finished and claimed him. Two of them had arrows sticking out of their legs. Even without injuries they doubted their chances against Aiselha and her sohees.

"Are you doing it again, Aiselha?" Another sohee shouted from afar. The MistStream sohees smiled and sighed with relief before floating back to stay at the side of the newcomer. Aiselha and the other StillBreath sohees tensed. They knew who was coming.

"Khaesilya." Aiselha whispered through grit teeth.

Khaesilya floated towards the StillBreath sohees fearlessly. She was shorter than Aiselha but she matched the taller sohee's stature with confidence. "Shut that stinking orifice under your nose, Aiselha!" She spat. Before anyone could react, she grabbed Aiselha by the folds of her robe and shoved the taller sohee to the ground.

'_We are saved! The MistStream will eat well tonight!'_

'_I hope I am not the one to deliver Khaesilya's share. It is already a stretch of our fortunes that she distinguishes between MistStream and StillBreath!'_

The other MistStream smiled gleefully at the sight of Aiselha being humiliated by a shorter sohee. Khaesilya was their champion; the strongest sohee ever born to the MistStream. She was faster and stronger than any sohee and she had the strange ability to hear the thoughts of those around her. Not even Aiselha and her StillBreath guardians could stand against Khaesilya.

The other StillBreath sohees wailed in a rage upon seeing the leader hurled to the ground. Khaesilya pulled out her life-stilleto and whipped it about quickly, catching one of them by the forearm. The StillBreath sohee cried out in pain and floated back, her arm bleeding copiously; staining her robe as she tried to staunch the wound.

Aiselha recovered from her fall and floated back, her face contorted in anger. "Attacking StillBreath tribesohees and stealing our food!" She hissed. "You have gone too far, Khaesilya!"

Khaesilya floated before the StillBreath sohees, her life-stilleto raised in a challenge. Behind her, the other MistStream sohees started drag the dead hunter away. None of the StillBreath sohees seemed willing to answer the challenge. Even Aiselha looked cowed.

"If you think that I've gone too far-"Khaesilya spat "-say it with your life-stilletos! Then I'd stab your eyes and cut out your tongues, you disgusting StillBreath scum!"

No one attacked and Khaesilya turned away in contempt. She did not follow the other MistStream sohees, who were likely already dismembering the dead hunter and stuffing it into the nearest cook pot. Aiselha floated away in a rage, looking fiercely at her companions; challenging them if they were going to say something.

No one did. Outside the sacred spawning pools, sohees of different tribes didn't mind killing each other over petty disputes. It was no shame to back down before Khaesilya when twelve of their kin had been killed for challenging her. None of those who were killed had so much as scratched Khaesilya's robes and none of them had attacked alone. Aiselha and her tribesohees could only glare in helpless rage as Khaesilya floated away from them once more.

* * *

'Disgusting…'

Khaesilya tossed the still half-full bowl of meat away, wrinkling her nose in contempt as the contents spilled to the rocky ground. Her tribesohees had taken the finest cuts from the hunter she had secured for them and then stewed it with the freshest mushrooms and herbs they could gather. It was customary for the first bowl of such a fine meal to be offered to the tribe's greatest fighter and next chieftain. Khaesilya thought it tasted like well-threshed mud. She was sick of mushrooms, herbs and, most of all, she was sick of human flesh.

"What a waste." The familiar voice nearly made Khaesilya look up. It nearly took her mind off her dark mood. Chieftain Helmina used to be able to take Khaesilya's thoughts off how she hated almost everything in the caves. That was the only reason she allowed the older sohee to even approach this part of the Payon Caves.

The last time Khaesilya allowed herself to be consoled, though, was a long time ago. Now, she barely tolerated Helmina's presence in her part of the caves. Khaesilya didn't stay in her tribe's portion of the Payon Caves. Instead she chose a small chamber far from the other sohees. It was dangerously close to the upper levels, and Helmina had been the first to point that out. Humans, the worst of the surface _heisvill_, were likely to discover and try to enslave her. Khaesilya chose this spot because few sohees were willing to risk going here and that was how she preferred it. She hated having other sohees around. They fidgeted and fawned around her, thinking monotonous thoughts that dripped with fear of her. A few wanted to use her while most wanted her dead. It didn't take long before Khaesilya wanted to kill them on the spot. StillBreath and RedLily sohees met that sort of fate. She had no tolerance for them whatsoever. StillBreaths like Aiselha mentally reminded her of how superior they were right up to the moment when she twisted her life-stilleto in their guts. The couple of sohees from the RedLily tribe she encountered were outright insane and had to be killed to stop the pointless garble that was their thoughts. Khaesilya didn't kill MistStream sohees like Helmina outright but she despised their presence just the same.

"Our tribesohees give you the finest meals, Khaesilya, and you treat them like-"

"Like garbage." Khaesilya snapped. She didn't even look at Helmina when she finished the MistStream chieftain's sentence. "Well that's all human flesh tastes like. Don't preach to me that the MistStream does this for anything else other than their need to make me keep my strength and their fear of what I'll do to them if they gave me anything less!"

Helmina sighed. She had had this conversation with Khaesilya before. It was impossible to gain any sort of edge when talking with the younger sohee when Khaesilya was somehow able to hear the thoughts of anyone nearby. "I've tried that too many times already. I'm here about your latest scuffle with the StillBreath tribe."

Khaesilya picked her teeth of the last strip of human flesh and spat it out. "What about it?" She sneered. "No one died. Aiselha crossed me and came out of it with just an empty belly and a bruised backside!"

"Aiselha is the next chieftain of StillBreath, Khaesilya! You know this! If you kill her, the StillBreath will rise as one."

"I'll kill her then I'll kill Gehinsa!" Khaesilya shouted, her voice ringing inside the small chamber. "If the StillBreath have a problem with that then I'll kill them all as well!" With that, Khaesilya suddenly lowered her voice. "That's why you keep me around, isn't it?"

"That is enough, Khaesilya." Helmina spoke in an equally low voice.

"What's the matter?" Khaesilya retorted. "I haven't said anything new. You think those words often enough!"

"Don't degrade yourself into a mere killer!" Helmina answered. "You are the next chieftain of MistStream and the champion of our tribe! True, I don't doubt that you can slay enough to crush the StillBreath but if infighting erupts in within the caves, the _Heisvill_ will overrun us!"

"Then I'll kill all the _Heisvill _as well. I'll splatter these stone walls with their blood until they become too scared to enter!"

"Your arrogance is as bottomless as the stream-source, Khaesilya!"

"It is your arrogance, not mine!" Khaesilya shouted. Her tone almost sounded like the fierce wail that all sohees cried when they joined a battle.

Helmina bit her lower lip, not wanting to add more fuel to Khaesilya's growing rage with another retort. She couldn't understand it. Khaesilya had been calm enough as a child. She understood that she was the hope of her tribe; a sohee born under strange circumstances. She knew she was different than the other sohee and didn't mind it when she was obligated to fight her tribe's enemies and the trespassing _heisvill._

But as Khaesilya grew up, she became more detached from the rest of tribe. She hated the tributes her tribesohees offered her and often lapsed into brooding rages. She had become an unapproachable and unwilling guardian of her tribe. The rest of MistStream were often too afraid of her to call her for help. She killed StillBreaths and RedLilies with ease and everyone dreaded that, soon, she would turn on any sohee.

"Chieftain Helmina!" Two MistStream sohees came running into the chamber. They cringed at the sight of Khaesilya, who glared at them for approaching her private chamber. Still, something kept them from fleeing the place. Helmina noticed the urgency in their approach and nodded to bid them to continue. "Several of the _heisvill_ are approaching our territory!" One of them reported. "We felt the unnatural presence of one of their foul enslaving devices so we came back here!"

'_Khaesilya will kill them all for sure.'_

'_This must be why Khaesilya prefers these upper levels. Let her turn her unappeasable anger on these heisvill instead!'_

"Cowards!" Khaesilya spat. She floated ahead of the other sohees, her life-stilleto already in her hand. "You can all hide back in our village. I will kill these _heisvill_."

"You must not underestimate them, Khaesilya!" Helmina implored. "These are slavers! If you are captured-!"

Khaesilya stopped and slowly floated around. There was no expression on her face while she stared at Helmina. The other sohees cringed and floated away; happy to let Khaesilya deal with such dangerous enemies and to let their chieftain deal with Khaesilya.

"What am I to you, Chieftain Helmina?" Khaesilya asked. "Why do you need to warn me about these things?"

"You are the hope of our people!" Helmina answered. "The hope of MistStream! You were the Stream-source's answer during a dire time for the tribe!"

'_You are the greatest among us and we sohees cannot afford to lose you.'_

"I know all that." Khaesilya answered. "You say it and you think it. You, Chieftain Helmina, and all the other sohees believe it. I am your champion and your hope. If all of that is true; if I am the greatest among us and all other races are _heisvill_ but us sohees, then I will easily cut through these slavers. How can the greatest of the greatest be defeated by mere _heisvill?_" Khaesilya's voice hardened as she turned away. "But if I am just Khaesilya and we sohees are but one more race in this world, then all of you must be punished for your lies and I must be punished for believing them!"

Leaving the silent Helmina behind, Khaesilya floated even closer to the upper levels. It wasn't long until she began to hear the thoughts of those she was about to fight.

'_I am sure that we will encounter that sohee we heard rumors about. The one that had killed a hunter and a knight before.'_

'_Mistress Trynis is a picky one. It can't just be any sohee slave bought from a trader, it has to be a special sohee.'_

'_Makaelthos deserves nothing less.'_

Then she saw them; a pair of dark-garbed _heisvill_ flanking a smaller one with long, white hair. Wordlessly, she floated towards them, ready to kill them all and wishing that she would not be able to.

* * *

Khaesilya's eyes fluttered open as the last vestiges of a dream left her. She had had that dream before. Vague images of other sohees within a dark space. She couldn't make any sense out of them and had long stopped trying. She was not in a cramped dark space now. She was in a desert at night, on her way to Prontera along with her master.

"Are you alright?" Makaelthos Solcry asked as he sat at the opposite side of a small fire. He looked tired, there were lines around his green eyes and his boyish, unshaven look nearly gave way to his fatigue. Khaesilya berated herself for letting him stay on watch longer than she wanted to. She wished that he had something more than his swordsman garb and a thin blanket to protect him from the cold desert night as well.

"I am fine, Master Makaelthos." She answered. "It has been my time to watch for a while now. Please get some rest."

"Don't blame yourself. I found a comfortable spot and found the strength to watch a little longer. Did you dream that dream again?"

Khaesilya nodded. "Remnants of my time before the Silver Knife." She answered. The sohee stared at the direction of Morroc, the city they had just left. Makaelthos had destroyed the knife that had bound her into servitude before he left it. "Master Makaelthos, may I ask you something?"

The swordsman looked at her curiously. "Of course. What is it?"

"What am I to you now?"

Makaelthos was quiet for a while. It didn't surprise Khaesilya. Her master always took some time before answering anything if he could help it. If he didn't like a question, he would say so immediately. "You are my dear friend, Khaesilya." He answered softly. "One who has shared the most trying times of my life with me."

Wrapping her blanket around her, Khaesilya watched as Makaelthos settled down and closed his eyes. "Thank you." She whispered.


End file.
